Traveler_Losing Legong

by Tim Dennis

  The next morning Myles rose early, fully intending to start his day by finding the local administrative center and announcing his presence formally. If ToEv and Gabrile didn't want him involved, perhaps there were others that did.

  He made a noble effort, using Nafasi's map to search further afield, questioning strangers and following directions as best he could. Each set of instructions led him to one or another place of government only to discover it functioned only as a school, or a museum.

  Perhaps they administer from orbit, like Legong?

  He stared into the sky for a half hour, seeing nothing that might be an orbiting space-station.

  Or a Legong landing Ark...

  Frustration began building again. Myles considered calling for Nafasi.

  He said I just need to wish for him...

  He tried wishing but the truth was he didn't really want to see Nafasi, or ToEv. His wanderings grew random. It was past lunchtime, and he didn't really want to face polite conversation with anyone, so he made his way back to the Grocer where he assembled a collection of fruits, cheeses and bread, attempting to duplicate the picnic he'd shared with Sach. Consulting his map once more, Myles found his way to a park. It was the time of day that young parents took their children out for walks, infants in wheel carts were pushed along paths and while toddlers were chased across lawns. This, at least, was a familiar enough sight, and Myles felt the comfort of family just by watching the children play.

  Ignorant runts have no idea what's in store for them.

  Myles was never quite sure if the thoughts were his, or intrusions from elsewhere. Whichever, it was still calming to watch the children run around in their innocence. This activity managed to fill his mealtime and when he was done, he steeled himself, intending to return to the serious business of being an Envoy, or calling on Nafasi, or perhaps heading back to his apartment. In this state he wandered the park, eventually finding a vacant bench beside a glade of trees shading a plaza.

  A dozen or so elderly men and women, not unlike Nafasi, tossed metal balls on the packed earth under the trees, cheering and frowning. They wore ridiculous striped shirts and floppy, low-fitting fabric hats. Suspecting he'd come across a native clown-troop, Myles ate and watched. For the most part the group remained focused on their balls, but occasionally Myles felt eyes on him.

  Are they watching me?

  "No. You're watching them." said Pig, dressed now as the players, in striped shirt and floppy hat.

  Shut up.

  Over time a pattern emerged. The ball-tossers were divided into two groups. Each, in turn, would stand stock-still in a circle scratched out on the dirt. They'd then sling their ball down the field of play. When they were done, they would collect the balls and start again. It would always begin with the tossing of a small, white wooden ball. For the rest of the play, the silvery metal balls would be tossed as close as possible to the little white ball.

  After an hour Myles felt he'd seen enough of the silly game and rose to leave. He made it two or three steps, stopped and turned back. The players were just finishing a round. He waited, and as they gathered their balls he approached them.

  "Hi. I'm- I'm a Traveler. I've been enjoying watching your game."

  They stood with their balls and stared at him. Myles pointed at himself.

  "Traveler."

  Then pointed at the balls,

  "Game."

  Myles mimed the tossing, pointing again to himself, then at the balls. "Traveler, play game, with you?"

  "If you insist, I will speak in your style, but, Traveler, it is really not done." Tatko, a man whom while still old, seemed the youngest of the crowd, stepped up and offered Myles his hand. Myles shook it.

  "Please forgive me." Said Myles. "I'm new here. I'm not very good with languages. I'm a Traveler."

  "Well Traveler, come, let me show you."

  Tatko led Myles back to the group and nattered something at a little woman standing in the back. She came forward.

  "This is Yasli, Traveler."

  "Bonjour."

  A general 'hello' came from the rest of the group, hands were shaken and nods exchanged. Myles decided not to volunteer details of his provenance, and likewise none were offered by the elders. Today it would be just a bunch of idle elders playing with their balls. Tatko said something under his breath to Yasli. Yasli stepped forward and offered Myles the little white ball, pointed to the far end of the dirt plaza and stepped back. The group became silent and all eyes fell on Myles. He tossed it. The group laughed and cheered, far out of proportion to Myles's effort, and patted him ceremoniously on the back.

  Are they mocking me?

  "Who cares. Just go with it." said Pig. aping the actions of the players with a ball that existed only in the imagination of an imagined pig.

  They embarked upon a mock game, Tatko showing Myles different strategies and tossing techniques while Yasli watched and wisely commented. Satisfied that he knew enough to not totally disrupt play, they let Myles toss the target ball for a genuine match. The play continued, mostly silently, with his teammates observing Myles more closely than the game. After a few matches the clique loosened up and Myles found himself on the same team as Yasli, leaning against a tree while awaiting their turn. Myles felt something touching his leg. Yasli held a flask against Myles's thigh, greeting his questioning look with a wink and a nudge. Myles hesitated. Yasli took a swig herself and slipped the flask under her elbow, hiding it while at the same time holding it within Myles's reach. Myles took a sip, half swallowing and half spitting. The contents were much stronger than what was normally served on Legong. A couple of the other players snickered, looking scornfully at Yasli and pitiably on Myles. One came over and joined them.

  "Fais gaffe au vieux!" He said, winking at Myles and taking a sip from the flask himself. Before the game was over the flask was empty, most of the players having taken a share. From that point the quality of play deteriorated, the players’ focus shifting from ball, to each other, to passers-by. Soon balls started to disappear into pockets and bags, and Myles, feeling he'd gotten all he could out of the event, said goodbye to Yasli and the others. The players also seemed to have had enough, for as Myles began his walk back across the park, his mates headed in the opposite direction. Before either got far, the oldsters stopped.

  "Traveler!" One called, beckoning Myles with a wave of his hand. "Amene ta fraise."

  Surprising himself by a complete lack of hesitation, Myles joined them, a purposeful march taking them about a kilometer from the park, down a quiet ally just a block from the river, to a small restaurant with room for their group and maybe a half dozen more. It was mid-afternoon and the place looked closed. Nevertheless the players strode in, rearranging the tables to suit themselves.

  A waiter came out from the back room with bread and a spiced oil that he drizzled onto a plate. A finely dressed young man, he appeared to be about Myles's age, but like all Earthers, in much better shape.

  "Tu te tiendras a carreau n'est ce pas non plus de vin!" He said.

  But one of the elders had already slipped behind the bar, and waving two bottles in the air called, "Carson! Troptard!"

  A wave of laughter passed among them. Carson, the waiter, gracefully accepted defeat and took his place behind the tiny bar near the kitchen door. Myles could see him speaking with someone inside, but couldn't hear the words.

  It appeared that Yasli was the social nexus of the little group, taking pride of place at the head of the pushed-together tables. Tatko drew Myles with him to the far end.

  Filling everyone's glass emptied the two borrowed bottles, which Carson quickly replaced with four more, leaving the opening of them to the men and women doing the drinking. With a foundation provided by the previously shared flask, Myles and his cronies were well on their way to bliss, allowing Myles no chance to protest against the rapid refilling of his glass. He was saved only by the arrival of a plate of wiggly bits of sauced food.

  "Dis donc, t'as bien j
ou." Yasli nodded at Myles and winked, rolling the little white ball between the fingers of one hand.

  "Ouais, il en a de le jugeotte." Ferew, a small man with caloused fingers and a rich head of white hair, tapped his forehead and nodded agreement. They both seemed pleased with Myles.

  "I really haven't the faintest idea of what you just said." Myles replied, as politely as he could. Refilled once more under protest, Myles pushed his glass away and reached for the plate to take a taste. Tatko and the woman to Myles's left slid their chairs back and the table went silent.

  "Yasli..." warned Carson from behind the bar.

  Yasli squinted, holding the little white ball to her left eye. Myles dropped the wiggly morsel and put up his hands. "Look, I'm sorry, maybe I'm stupid but I only speak the one language."

  Yasli bounced the ball off her table, arcing it gracefully over the intervening crockery to land perfectly in Myles's glass, splashing most its contents onto Myles's shirt. A cheer went up and Yasli stood to take a bow. Myles looked around the table for a napkin to dry his shirt. He found none. Ferew quieted Yasli with a dismissive wave and leaned in to inquire seriously of Myles: "Dis donc... t'as pas autre chose a faire et que rester ici tout seul? Eh?"

  Myles couldn't understand the words, but understood that his hosts were concerned about him. They felt he was too young to spend his days in the park. That was for old people. "I'm new here. I don't know anyone." He said. "I'm, I'm a traveler."

  "ca va, ca, on le sait. Tell us more about yourself."

  Carson came over with a new glass for Myles and fished the ball out of his old one. "Attention le gars, si non j'appelle le panier a salade!" Again, without understanding the words it was clear to Myles his compatriots were being chastised.

  The group booed Carson, snatched away the little ball and threatened him with knives and forks. Carson waggled his finger and turned away.

  "Allez, un peu plus de bread!" Ferew replied.

  "Et une serviette pour le Cochonnet!" Yasli added, waving the damp, now pink, little ball in the air. Carson tossed a towel. Myles intercepted it, pressing it against his wine-stained shirt to the amusement of the petanque players. "Cochonnet!" Yasli cried, pointing at Myles. They all repeated the term, erupting in laughter as Yasli leaned over to drop the little ball into Myles's shirt pocket.

  Myles looked over to Carson for support, but he only shrugged, glancing down at the ball in Myles's pocket and repeating: "Cochonnet."

  The old drinkers took a moment to rest, spent from their exuberant laughter. After a round of deep breaths Tatko spoke. "Alors, ton histore. You were telling us your story."

  "Yes, Cochonnet, raconte." Added Yasli.

  Myles explained about Legong, the Traveler, the showdown currently occurring in orbit and his lack of a place in it. The group became gravely quiet, listening to his story with great interest, occasionally interrupting with concerned gasps and sympathetic sighs. By the time Myles had finished the cook had joined them. He, like Carson, was barely Myles's age, wiry, with a friendly, open expression.

  Sgullen, as the man was called, offered sympathy. The group had begun mixing their own language with Earth-standard, or Myles was learning theirs. He wasn't certain. "You are not so alone as you may feel, Cochonnet." Sgullen said. "These people, all of them, have served in the Colonies."

  The half drunk elders looked at each other as if to challenge the wisdom of opening this line of discussion. Yasli spoke first.

  "C'est vrai. I myself spent twenty years in Figaro Ende."

  "But ToEv said my world was first contact." Myles interrupted.

  "Yes, that is true. But it is not the first world we've been to."

  The wine flowed, and of the six players remaining, five admitted to having lived, secretly, on one or another colony. They made no attempt to apologize for what they'd done, they were spies, learning as much as they were able about foreign worlds, all of which Earth considered potential threats. Only on Legong had things gotten to the point where Earth felt the need to make open contact. Full tummies and an afternoon of wine emboldened the already brash group of friends, and although Myles could now understand the language being spoken, he and his new friends were experiencing other impediments to effective enunciation.

  "It was nesheshary." Ehun, formerly the quiet one, dribbled the words down her shirt. "Witph your Rippfing, who knows? You Legongks might come here."

  "And you did." Yasli added with great pride, pointing at Myles accusingly. "Forgive me, ces vrai."

  Two of the players excused themselves, dangerously increasing the ratio of wine-bottles-to-patrons. Warmth had long since turned to numbness, and standing became a challenge for each of them. Before the conversation glided away from the serious subject of Legong-Earth relations, Ferew leaned over to whisper in Myles's ear. "Tu apelle nous spies," he said, "but it is not so different, this ‘Envoy’ role you have."

  Myles looked out into a sea of stern faces and waving fingers, but before the next word was spoken all had forgotten what the waving was about. Tatko launched the conversation along a new tangent. "Do you have any children, Cochonnet?"

  "Nofe." Myles blew the word out his nose. "But Bento hasb."

  "Whosh Bento?"

  "She used to be with Harry, but now she's wid me." Myles made a swapping motion with his fingers. "The other way. I have parents tho."

  "My parents are from here. Earth. Paris. Here." Ehun added. "That's why I came back."

  "I never lived on Paris once. China. The whole life of my time. But this looked good. So I came." Said Ferew.

  Broken conversations continued with long pauses. As the group shrank by two more, Myles took the little ball, the cochonnet, from his shirt pocket and offered it to whoever would take it. Yasli accepted it and slid into the empty seat beside Myles, grabbing his arm in an unexpectedly firm grip. "They wouldn't know of this, not if I hadn't started it."

  "It's true." Tatko looked seriously at Myles. "Yasli practically invented petanque. The outfits, the game."

  "I can't credit that." Said Yasli. "I read about it. It was history. A thing from this city, many years ago. This is really how they dressed, what they wore." Yasli sat back to give a good view of her outfit, then relaxed in chair. "Or maybe it was an old entertainment I saw. Anyway, historical fact or imagined fiction, I started this group. That much is true."

  Ferew produced a guitar. Myles was becoming used to things appearing from nowhere, but he was not so jaded as to fail to be amazed at how similar the instrument was to those on Legong.

  "Ishs a guitar," burbled Pig, drunkenly sitting in a far corner. "A guitar is a guitar."

  Yes, but what about a banjo? Or a mandolin? They're not guitars, but they are, kinda.

  "Whatever."

  Sgullen joined in for a couple songs before returning to the kitchen. It would soon be time for the dinner crowd, and Carson was already resetting the room, movign tables and chairs, fussing over place settings. The five remaining reveler sat around a table that would be tight for three. The flow of wine halted. Myles, Yasli, Tatko, Ferew and Ehun rose unsteadily from their seats and, walking close for mutual support, left Sgullen and Carson to their jobs.

  The group made it back to the park without incident, but from there Myles couldn't remember where to go. Like a trooper, he did his best to keep up with the singing as first Ferew, then Ehun drifted off to their next engagements. At the end of the third circuit of the park, Myles stopped Tatko and Yasli.

  "No, I insist." Myles said, still held up by his two new friends. "I found my way here on my own and I'll find my way home on my own."

  Beyond speech, the two geriatrics saluted and waddled off, with great dignity, in oppostie directions. Myles turned around a little too fast, fell to the ground and crawled over to a wooden bench.

  OK old man, where's that apartment?

  Myles sat on the bench, his lips dry and his belly gurgling.

  I could really use a drink. Of water. Or perhaps an apple.

  At th
is self-suggestion he stood up, and without thinking walked directly down the street leading to the grocery store. Pig waddled along behind on all fours.

  The Grocer, a thick-wristed man much larger than Myles, with a tan tint to his freckled skin, dragged the last of his display carts into the store. Myles sat on the curb and wondered what he had come for. The Grocer shut the shop door and stood over him.

  "I'm going home now." The Grocer said. "You might try a peach, there's a few left and they'll be over-ripe by tomorrow."

  "I'm g'home. Too." Myles garbled.

  With a sigh the big man bent down and lifted Myles from the curb. Steadying him as they went, the Grocer took Myles up to the door of his building and opened it. He gave a gentle push and Myles entered and headed up the stairs. The Grocer stayed long enough to be sure Myles had made it to the top, then went on his own way.

  47

  Krykowfert rubbed his eyes. Legong hovered far overhead, partially hidden by the opposite side of the torus and the intervening mess of Launch Rails. Feric spoke.

  "Ark construction is going well. Crew training, better. In fifteen days we'll have the capacity to move sixty thousand at a time."

  Krykowfert possessed no false modesty. He could rightly accept the credit for being the savior of Legong in many ways, but he also wasn't foolish. He valued Feric beyond words. "My ship?"

  She drew up an image of a hangar, not on Central Command, but dug into Farm Ark Four, spinning silently a few thousand kilometers behind them.

  "And you've taken care of..." Instead of finishing he waved his arm in an ambiguous gesture. Feric changed the image. A small fleet of modified Diverters and Destroyers moved at great speed from the outer system towards the Eden Rip.

  "There is no indication that the Council is tracking them, or, if they are, they're showing up as another test of the Eden Project." Nia Feric was young and easily handled the schedule they'd been keeping, but Krykowfert wanted to sleep. He was tired of tea, tired of arguments and tired of the Council. Feric sensed this. "One more thing before you go."