I was in the park again. I could see the grass at my feet. It was beaming with health and perfect in form, so I knelt down to touch it, to somehow absorb the precious greens.
I realised with horror that hundreds of delicate blades were being crushed beneath my feet. I could hear and feel each one shatter through my clumsy soles. I urgently willed myself to levitate, so those injured be spared further breakage. Sand blew in and covered the grass the moment my feet left the ground.
I desperately tried to fall back down, to save the grass from the choking sand, but I was blown up and away. I was screaming at the sand to stop. My screams were lost as I tumbled end over end and up into a howling sandstorm.
I awoke to 96 shaking me.
"You're kicking sand on me!" He shook in a furious whisper.
I fumbled a few words of confusion that he managed to translate as "I was dreaming".
"Shhh. Yeah, I guessed that much." He hissed, lying back down.
I sat up to rally my consciousness.
"Sorry.." I whispered.
"No, I'm sorry," He said after a sigh, "I only wish you could shake me awake, yet I haven't slept a wink.."
Someone's alarm chirped into life for a few beeps before promptly switched off; it's owner had been counting down the seconds.
108 sat up with the light of his phone in his face and then shined it around the shelter.
"It's OK. Go, back to sleep." He mouthed at the two of us propped up on our elbows.
"What are you doing?" I asked with a gesture.
"Cooking the meat." He answered back in charades.
"Right, right." I nodded, "Do you need a hand?"
So, 108 and I cut the meat up into small cubes with cleaver-sized squares of tin, as 96 carefully pulled in the tray of hot-stones. When the meat was frying I looked over 108's shoulder to see the stopwatch on his phone, it read: Fourteen hours, eleven minutes, fifty five seconds and counting..
"Roughly twenty-eight hour days." I said, as 108 pocketed his phone. "That's not too far off a day on earth."
"It could be disastrously more or less though.. depending on whether we're closer to winter or summer right now. And depending on how extreme the tilt of the planet is." He responded, with an orange as a prop.
We divided up the groceries with the help of 103 and 109. 67 routinely shovelled the hot sand away.
"Do you know who's exploring tonight?" I asked 103.
"Me." Said 108 with a mouthful of apple. "First time. Could be fun.."
I was taken aback by his casual attitude.
"Aren't you afraid of what could be out there?" I asked, almost certain he was faking it.
"Yeah, I guess.." He replied. "I mean, who the hell knows what's out there?"
I realised with horror that hundreds of delicate blades were being crushed beneath my feet. I could hear and feel each one shatter through my clumsy soles. I urgently willed myself to levitate, so those injured be spared further breakage. Sand blew in and covered the grass the moment my feet left the ground.
I desperately tried to fall back down, to save the grass from the choking sand, but I was blown up and away. I was screaming at the sand to stop. My screams were lost as I tumbled end over end and up into a howling sandstorm.
I awoke to 96 shaking me.
"You're kicking sand on me!" He shook in a furious whisper.
I fumbled a few words of confusion that he managed to translate as "I was dreaming".
"Shhh. Yeah, I guessed that much." He hissed, lying back down.
I sat up to rally my consciousness.
"Sorry.." I whispered.
"No, I'm sorry," He said after a sigh, "I only wish you could shake me awake, yet I haven't slept a wink.."
Someone's alarm chirped into life for a few beeps before promptly switched off; it's owner had been counting down the seconds.
108 sat up with the light of his phone in his face and then shined it around the shelter.
"It's OK. Go, back to sleep." He mouthed at the two of us propped up on our elbows.
"What are you doing?" I asked with a gesture.
"Cooking the meat." He answered back in charades.
"Right, right." I nodded, "Do you need a hand?"
So, 108 and I cut the meat up into small cubes with cleaver-sized squares of tin, as 96 carefully pulled in the tray of hot-stones. When the meat was frying I looked over 108's shoulder to see the stopwatch on his phone, it read: Fourteen hours, eleven minutes, fifty five seconds and counting..
"Roughly twenty-eight hour days." I said, as 108 pocketed his phone. "That's not too far off a day on earth."
"It could be disastrously more or less though.. depending on whether we're closer to winter or summer right now. And depending on how extreme the tilt of the planet is." He responded, with an orange as a prop.
We divided up the groceries with the help of 103 and 109. 67 routinely shovelled the hot sand away.
"Do you know who's exploring tonight?" I asked 103.
"Me." Said 108 with a mouthful of apple. "First time. Could be fun.."
I was taken aback by his casual attitude.
"Aren't you afraid of what could be out there?" I asked, almost certain he was faking it.
"Yeah, I guess.." He replied. "I mean, who the hell knows what's out there?"
"Yeah, me too.." I admitted.
"But, really," he went on to say, "I think the chance of me stumbling across the "acid drooling alien" we're thinking of is more unlikely than the odds I'll find a way home.. So if I come across an alien anything close to as scary as my worst fears, then that's good for us, right?" He joked nervously.
"Do you know where you're going?" 96 asked with a slight rise in spirits.
"I don't know yet," 108 shrugged, "but someone'll tell me before I go, I hope. Right?"
96 jumped at the opportunity to detail his first time mapping. We let him loose. It was obviously therapeutic for him. His further rise in spirits was miraculous.
When the hot sand was cleared 108 and I positioned ourselves in the relenting glare and waited with watery eyes.
"Mark!" We said together with the last segment of sun.
"Do you know where you're going?" 96 asked with a slight rise in spirits.
"I don't know yet," 108 shrugged, "but someone'll tell me before I go, I hope. Right?"
96 jumped at the opportunity to detail his first time mapping. We let him loose. It was obviously therapeutic for him. His further rise in spirits was miraculous.
When the hot sand was cleared 108 and I positioned ourselves in the relenting glare and waited with watery eyes.
"Mark!" We said together with the last segment of sun.
With the pyrographed image of the sun engraved onto his retina, 108 somewhat blindly jotted down the time and initials '108' on a piece of cereal box.
"Here," he said, handing it to me and pocketing his pen, "I wonder how long we'll have to do this for.. if we'll still be round to see results." He said glumly, rubbing his eyes.
The sunset suddenly snatched his attention from the gloomy thoughts.
"Somehow, I don't think that really matters either-way.." I said aloof, as I too was taken by the spectacle once again.
We sat down with the others to watch and I tried to eat.
As we scanned for satellites, 63 appeared into view and dropped a heavy bound stack of flattened cereal boxes at the feet of 75.
"There." He said flatly. "Which one's 108?"
108 raised his hand half-heartedly and was taken aside for his mapping instruction.
I had gathered from 96's accounts that our first time mapping was more an orientation; a lesson in map reading that took a solo, hands-on approach.
When I had asked why it was done alone, 101 made a remark about euthanasia, I asked no more questions.
63 and 67 left for the clearing without a word.
108 waved his goodbyes while straining his eyes at a small square of card; written on it were the strict directions he was to follow.
"Here," he said, handing it to me and pocketing his pen, "I wonder how long we'll have to do this for.. if we'll still be round to see results." He said glumly, rubbing his eyes.
The sunset suddenly snatched his attention from the gloomy thoughts.
"Somehow, I don't think that really matters either-way.." I said aloof, as I too was taken by the spectacle once again.
We sat down with the others to watch and I tried to eat.
As we scanned for satellites, 63 appeared into view and dropped a heavy bound stack of flattened cereal boxes at the feet of 75.
"There." He said flatly. "Which one's 108?"
108 raised his hand half-heartedly and was taken aside for his mapping instruction.
I had gathered from 96's accounts that our first time mapping was more an orientation; a lesson in map reading that took a solo, hands-on approach.
When I had asked why it was done alone, 101 made a remark about euthanasia, I asked no more questions.
63 and 67 left for the clearing without a word.
108 waved his goodbyes while straining his eyes at a small square of card; written on it were the strict directions he was to follow.
"Remember to keep an eye on the northern star at all times!" 96 yelled out as 108 stopped to look back.
108 nodded an acknowledgement and, looking back down at the card like a compass, set off down the dune with a purpose.
"He'll do fine.." 96 told us like a proud parent.
"I'm going out tomorrow night." Announced 109. "To be honest, I'm just looking forward to the biscuits.."
"You get biscuits?" I asked, wondering what had happened to the ones I bought.
"They're shared between the the mapper and the fighter, like an energy boost." 100 explained.
"More like a last meal." Muttered 101.
"Hey, none of that." Intervened 75 with a slap on 101's back. "How about we get started on this moon-tracking of yours."
"Oh yeah, I almost forgot!" He said with a drastic U-turn of mood, wide eyed with recollection. "We.. we need sticks."
101 divided us into pairs leaving himself to act alone as director. He directed 109 and I to the dune furthest of the three chosen, to collect ten long and reasonably straight sticks, and await further instruction at the top.
I didn't think to protest my fears of a possible alien attack; the dune didn't seem far away enough to warrant any concern. My worries only surfaced when I looked back at the shelter from afar; I hadn't gone more than twenty meters from it since arriving, I felt like a wildebeest-calf straying from the herd.
"So.. What do you do.." 109 ask with a nervous laugh.
It did well to ease my nerves.
"Oh you know, the usual nine to five.. I've got a little place on an alien planet I like to go on the weekends.." I replied in a stupid voice.
"Sounds like we've got a lot in common.." He laughed back.
We lost sight of the shelter as we traversed the trees that moated the dunes; shoulder to shoulder, we quickened our pace until it came into view again.
We scrambled to the top of our destined dune and I whistled and waved to let the others know where we were. The other pairs waved back from their perches with failed whistles and mock bird-calls to lighten the shadows a bit.
We slid back down the sand to selectively break limbs from the endless supply of burnt trees below. With a kind of therapeutic satisfaction, they snapped off easily from their trunks with a sharp pop.
The branches were all reasonably straight, and most grew out to sharp points with few offshoots.
"You have to wonder how these little trees ever grew at all.." I said to make conversation.
I showed 109 a branch's cross-section that revealed a pencil width of unburned wood, what I assumed to be wood anyway, at the core.
"How could they possibly grow in this sunlight? And in sand, without water?" 109 argued.
"Yeah, I know right.. Who knows? Maybe they're not as dead as they look." I said, studying the core of the branch in the moonlight.
We were soon sitting on a pile of sticks at the top of the dune, awaiting orders while discussing the possible life-cycles of the alien trees. Our inquiry led us to working our way through the pile, examining the core of each stick until our curiosity sent us venturing back down the dune again for further investigation.
We dug around the base of a tree in order to investigate the state the roots, but instead discovered a widening trunk and more burnt branches buried beneath the sand.
The more we dug, the more tree we found.
"These trees could be a hundred meters tall and we wouldn't know it!" 109 said as we finally gave up the dig.
With a new perspective, we climbed the dune for a better view.
Our suspicions were affirmed by the way the treeline contoured the space between the dunes; the mummified forest beneath us was merely it's wind-excavated canopy.
"It still doesn't make sense.." I said. "Where did all this sand come from?"
"It seems it blew in from out of nowhere." Answered 109. "The trees definitely didn't see it coming."
Movement behind us made us spin around in fright, thinking we had somehow summoned the force in question.
To our relief, it was 101 dragging a heavy branch up the dune with one hand while the other hugged his phone, pen and paper and water bottle.
"Hey, can you give me a hand with this?" He asked with an effort.
We relieved 101 of the heavy club-like branch for the final few meters as he stretched his back.
"There's.. a moon about to rise.." He pointed, still catching his breath. "As soon as it peeks it's bald head over the horizon.. you start your watch."
He dropped his armful of gear to free both hands and stretched his back further.
"Sketch the mountain ridge where the moon rises from, with as much detail as you can. Leave some room for the times." He added with a thrust of his finger at the horizon like an exhausted fencer.
Apparently more keen to get moving than exhausted, he took the branch from us and drove its thinner end head-first into the sand like a stake.
"While one of you sketches, the other needs to make a mallet.. the smaller trees break off at their trunks if you give them a hard kick." He said, putting his weight on the stake with twisting motion. "Bang this down to the height of someone sitting up straight with their back against it, OK? That's important.."
He brushed the charcoal from his hands briefly before settling down to scrutinise our stick-pile.
After a quick process of elimination he handed me one of his choice sticks.
"This'll be straight enough, you can use your water bottles as levels if you make a few markings," he said, revealing his own makeshift water level, "level off the top of this dune as best you can.."
He then stood with his back to the stake, and speared the end of another choice stick between his heels. The other end he pointed north at the star, like a guard with a pike at attention. Slowly he loosened his grip and sat on his hunkers, to maintain a reasonably accurate direction.
We watched attentively as he determined the bearing of the rising moon based on a rough compass made by placing two other sticks at south and east, and then delicately pointing another at the moon in the same fashion as the star.
"..South, eighty degrees, East." He concluded after a mumbling computation. "Write that down would you 109? OK, any questions?"
I looked to 109.
"No, I think we're good." I answered for us as 109 jotted down the bearing.
"OK, good. I'll see you in an hour and we'll drive the first marker in!" He said with a big smile of excitement.
With a springboard step and hop, he jumped off the edge and down the dune.
"By the way, they're not tree trunks!" 109 called after him. They're the tree-tops!"
101 stopped mid stride and nearly fell over into a roll.
"What? What do you mean?" He called back.
"Dig! You wont find roots, you'll only find more trunk and branches!" I answered.
He looked down at the trees for a moment and then back up at us.
"It's a buried forest!" 109 reiterated for me. "They could be a hundred meters tall!"
101 looked out into the dunes for the bigger picture, and put his hands on his head in disbelief.. "This place gets weirder every time I look at it!" He laughed. "Where the hell did all this sand come from!"
We threw our hands up as a salute to the answers unknown, and 101 laughed a farewell down the dune.
"Oh, I almost forgot!" He yelled from the bottom. "Decide on a name for your moon!"
While 109 sketched the moonrise, I stomped a mallet out of the tree-top I had decapitated with an flying Bruce Lee kick.
As we leveled off the area around the stake we bounced name ideas back and forth. Countless variations of Moon and Apollo and Luna were quickly rejected, until we decided the warming light in the dark should be named after our Mother, it was our first thought actually, and it couldn't be beaten.
75 came to visit and found us smoothing off the levelled sand by the grain, like Buddhists in a Zen garden. He was delighted to tell us that not only had he and 96 decided upon Maree also, but 100 and 103 as well. Our moon would from then on be referred to as 'Maree-Three', which had a nice ring to it we thought.
75 had brought with him the bound stack of writings to share and circulate around the dunes.
"..to help pass the time." He said, as he pealed away a third of the stack for us. "Just remember what I told you: don't expect to find a way home in here.. Keep an open mind."When 75 left we delved feverishly in our third of the writings like they were the answers for an exam we were about to sit.
We found nothing but a widening trunk, and more burnt branches..
The writings were, as 75 had promised, mostly unreadable.
One thing however, was made clear: The Order had been dangerously obsessed with the counting and comparing of anything found to be countable; whether it be found in the groceries or in the seams of our collars; counting dominated the material.
The hastily written conclusions at the bottom of each page of data were heavily laced with the frustration of trying to make sense of nonsense. I could only shake my head as it was dragged into re-living the madness of the author; it was written my in hand-writing after all.
"..consistent variations of grains per loaf in counts for batches D, E and F implies evidence for imperfect copying," I read aloud with a tone of confusion, "therefore, the varying degrees by which individuals differ on arrival must be considered and justifies precautions taken to date..?"
109 looked up from his page with a wobbly exhale.
"..he took longer to die than normal. I tried to comfort him as he bled out. I think he died of fright in the end.." He read from his pile.
I didn't want to hear it, so I didn't make sense of the words.
"What's the stopwatch say?" I asked to interrupt.
"Fifty Five, Twenty." He replied with a sigh. "..do you want to hit the thing in, or sight it?"
101 joined us at one minute before the hour to supervise. We had already observed the distant silhouettes of 100 and 103 complete the simple process. But, obligingly, we set the first marker in as per 101's meticulously rationalised, step-by-step guide.
After he had taken 109's seat at the sighting position to double check, he instructed us on how best to tie a thread of cotton at the base of the stick at level with the sand, with the aid of his prototype 'water-bottle tied to a stick' tool he designed since the last time we saw him.
"I was just with 75 and 96, we were talking about establishing a meter rule.." 101 told us. "Something we can duplicate, to refer to if we should ever have to take an accurate measurement of something. We figured we need something uniform to start with. Like, say, the width of our thumbnail for instance. That could replace the centimeter.. one hundred thumbnail widths to equal a meter, and so on. What do you think?"
109 and I scratched our heads.
"..because this will all be blown away when we come back to it tomorrow night." He explained. "We need to record the markers heights and positions accurately.."
"Right, of course.." I nodded, thinking.
"Anyway, something to think about." He concluded as he checked his itinerary.
Then, with a mumble of numbers he half ran and half skied blindly down the dune to his next appointment.
"It makes you wonder.." 109 began as we watched 101's descent.
"What's that?" I asked.
"..who the hell am I?" He laughed.
"He is, therefore I am.." I responded in a priestly-manner before considering the implications of my words.
"It does make you wonder." I agreed.
After smoothing our "Zen Garden" of all footprints, we made our way through the remainder of the writings allocated to us; intermittently reading aloud selective passages that disturbed or confused us least.
"..I don't know How, I don't know Why; I only know Who and When. That's Me and Now.." Quoted 109.
"That's true I suppose. That's definitely one of the better ones. Listen to this.." I said, clearing my throat. "..why must I feel guilt if I see no signs of any punishment pending. The satellite judges all, but sentences not? I am tempted to do something truly awful, if only to hear them tell me to stop.."
109 shook his head.
"That's messed up.." was all he ch a look disgust.
After a long stare into the dunes we decided that madness was the only possible explanation.
"It's all>"Here's something useful maybe:" I said unconvinced, "..I am in hell. Rocks and then boulders, and then the boulders open up into steep jagged mounds of rock and gorges. I found my way back to the sand when the sun was rising, with only enough time to dig myself a hole to hide in, in the shade of a dune.."
After skim-reading a few pages of untitled data, I found something written in tiny print down the margin.
"..I miss the guilt," I read slowly, "I miss the fear. I no longer hunger for home with the same pain, I miss that dearly too.."
"..when will they send me home?" 109 read as soon as I was done. "When I have killed enough? Survived enough? Cried enough? When will they recognise the sacrifices I've made? What more do I have to do to satisfy their test? Have I not won? Am I not Lord of these sands? Am I not King of this Godforsaken planet?"
"Lord and King?" I asked with a look disgust.
After a long stare into the dunes we decided that madness was the only possible explanation.
"It's all so dark, and horrible.." I said flicking back through my pile. "I hate to say it, but I'm beginning to think it wasn't such a terrible thing the shelter collapsed."
I listened to the words as they echoed in my head.
"No, I don't mean that." I retracted, "But, you know what I mean right? They were sick."
"I know what you mean." 109 agreed bluntly. "They're forever justifying killing by backing it up with senseless evidence; it's a one sided debate.."
"It's nonsense.." I agreed.
"I realise there's no alternative to killing, it's survival." He continued. "Why do they feel the need to justify it so adamantly?"
"I guess, the guilt.." I replied, handing him my pile. "Or it could be guilt for the lack of it. God, I don't know."
109 secured the stack under the remaining sticks and checked the time.
"Forty Six, twenty.." He told me, before his attention was diverted down the dune. "This must be 101 coming up now."
It was 75, with more writings to circulate.
He swapped the stack under the stick-pile with the new lot, and sat with us, thoughtful and content.
"The Order was a dark place in it's early days." He said finally. "When you read the writings a few times over you begin to recognise that the themes are unchanging. It always comes back to fear."
He reached into his pocket and found a lonely cigarette wrapped up in the empty pack.
"We need fear sometimes, to survive. But we can't live on fear alone.." He said as he lit the cigarette. "Fear makes you run, which is helpful at first.. but when you stop running you hide away, you think you're living on fear but it's really feeding on you, and leads you unwittingly to paralysis.. And stagnation, and self-torture, and ultimately death."
He passed me the cigarette as the words rippled in my mind.
"These guys were shut-ins," he said, "and very alone. They had nine other people around them and there's no mention of any group activity in the writings.."
"I noticed that too.." concurred 109.
"..that's why we have to keep doing things like this," he said, pointing out 100 and 103's small silhouettes being directed by a frantically pointing 101, "talking, and sharing ideas, and doing things together.. that I'm certain of."
109 passed him back his cigarette when he had remembered the task at hand.
101 returned in time to observe the setting of the second marker, but didn't intervene nearly as much. He appeared to be reading his palms.
"I think my Maree-One is moving slower than Maree-Three here, 101.." said 75.
"It's catching up?" 101 asked, looking up from his hands.
"I'm not sure, I think so.." 75 replied. "What you got there?"
"What?" He asked puzzled. "Oh, nothing. No, I was thinking.. if we have the same palm-lines, you know, palm-prints or whatever; we could make our new centimeter the distance between two lines or two points or something.."
Our ears pricked up at the notion.
"Let's find out," 75 suggested with a laugh, "I am going to freak out if they're not the same.."
They read and compared palms in the moonlight. 109 and I followed suit.
Our palm-prints were, as far as we could tell, exactly the same.
Hour by hour 109 and I tracked Maree-Three across the sky.
We passed the time reassembling the Sunday morning that brought us both to the planet, step by step, and concluded that the only differences we were able to identify was he remembered the lighter, and he chose the grey T-shirt instead of a blue. Everything else he could think of was exactly the same as I remembered it, and vise-versa; down to the bread and biscuits, and the thoughts of kung-fu.
I quizzed 109 on the significant events of my past; he finished my sentences.
"..so we are the same." He proposed.
"Well, 75 says we're not anymore, not since we arrived anyway.." I replied, still thinking.
"Right.." 109 agreed after a brief rearrangement of thought, "because, now, we're living out our own individual life-lines?"
"Yeah.. I think." I said, surprised by how effortlessly 109 drew his conclusion.
He hummed a thought for a moment.
"..we're living our own separate lives now, now that we are on the same planet together!"
"Yeah.." Was all I could say.
It sure is a brain-bleeder.." He added, rubbing his face with both hands and laughing in defeat.
"Are you kidding?" I laughed to match, "I don't think my brain has stopped bleeding since I got here.."
When we had exhausted conversation, we reluctantly started on the new pile of writings. I discovered someone had sketched a series of star-charts; proposing potential candidates for constellations drawn from predominant stars. We made a game out of finding them in the sky above to pass the time, which lead to us forging a few of our own - with 109 and 112 initialled alongside in tiny print.
"Hey, it's not like they were any more qualified.." I assured 109 as he joined the dots to make a sailing boat. "And that's definitely a boat, no question about it."
109 sighed a long shaken sigh at the sky.
"Do you actually believe we're going to find a way home?" he asked, looking down from the stars with an emotional appeal for honesty. "I mean really, what do you think? Do you think there's a chance?"
I laughed involuntarily as my central nervous system spasmed from the intense eye contact.
"Well, yeah, sure.. I mean, we have to. Right?" Said my optimist finally, with a strained tone of uncertainty. "It's out there, somewhere, I think. We just have to find it.."
109 sighed at the sky again.
"I want to believe that we will get home as easy as we left. But, I can't help but feel we're in way over our heads.." He admitted with an honesty that hit the back of my throat with a sharp ache.
We sat in the light breeze in depressing 0e P 0C0b 6101 returned to shake us awake.
"It's heavy stuff alright.." He said, looking down at the seemingly discarded pile of writings. "Common, 'M.3.' is almost set.."
We stretched away our negativity and rose to our feet with 101 clapping his hands like a school teacher.
I gladly sketched the moon-set as 101 and 109 recorded the positions of our markers with respect to the new Rule: the shortest distance between two distinct parallel lines nestled in the centre of our palms. 101 told us they considered the distance between our belt notches. But, discovered in the writings, by pure coincidence actually, was, of course, a lengthily record of varying belt notch lengths.
As we were all making the finishing touches to the record, our focus was diverted by a sudden commotion; from the shelter. I could see 75 and 96 had heard it too, and were standing to investigate.
"What's going on!" 101 yelled in the shelter's direction.
The silhouettes of 75 and 96 were calling for answers also.
Finally, an excited reply was granted us:
"108 found something!"
Without a second thought, we leaped down our respective dunes and raced for the shelter.
Huffing and puffing, we pushed our way into the tight circle of bodies that encompassed the discovery; eager to see it for ourselves and completely unconcerned about any one's interpretation.
It was a spearhead, plain and simple. Tin-can; tightly rolled into a solid point at one end, and into a cup fit for the shaft at the other; with a lolly-wrapper twist in the centre to divide the two.
It was difficult to imagine just how they managed to shape the tin in such a way, but our attentions were drawn to a more pressing question.
"Just what exactly was it used against?" 103 asked 75, assuming that he had more of a basis on which to form an answer on.
75 exhaled a slow, thoughtful breath, and rubbed the back of his neck as he searched the stars for an explanation.
"Well, there are only a few possibilities I can think of.." He said, taking his thumb to bullet his first point. "One: they were used to fight off something predatory. Two: they were used to hunt prey.. Or Three: They used them against each other."
"What about the aliens? The satellite people, I mean.." I blurted out.
"No, surely they'd just vaporise the spears with their ray-guns." 109 assured me queitly.
"It's a time-perfected design for sure.." 100 said as he took his turn to handle it.
101 took the spearhead from him when he had decided his turn was over, and peered closely at the black soot that coated it.
"It's hard to tell if it's blood; human blood.." He noted to himself. "I sure hope it was prey."
"What was it doing all they way out there though.. Where did you find it 108?" 109 asked.
"I just stumbled upon it when I was climbing a mound of rock past the dunes, to sight the North Star." He replied simply. "I looked around for a bit, but.. To be honest, as soon as I considered 'Possibility-One', I got the hell out of there."
"Fair enough." 109 agreed.
The spearhead finally made its way to me and I held it up to the moonlight. There was a hole punched through the base; a hole the same size through a shaft of wood, and wound with a cord of sorts would have secured it tightly, I imagined. I touched what I imagined to be sun-burnt alien blood lightly with my forefinger and smelt it; expecting to discover it's origins somehow.
"Charcoal." I concluded aloud, passing it on to 109 quickly.
I rubbed my hands on my jeans instinctively as precautions against the alien virus still lingering.
"If there's a spear, then there must be remains of it's victims somewhere, right?" 109 suggested. "There's nothing about hunting in the writings?"
"No, I'm certain there's no mention of hunting, or spears for that matter.." Replied 75.
With a collective "Hmmm" we thought deeply in silence for a long spell, until it was broken by the return of 63 and 67.
"What is it tonight?" 63 asked 75 with a smirk grin.
96 handed him the spearhead without a word, and 63 found himself with an expectant audience.
"108 came across it, out exploring." 96 explained quickly.
"Where?" Asked 63 simply, seemingly not overly impressed.
"Ah, just north of marker.. 'C'. Marker 'C'." He replied respectfully, showing 63 his small cardboard map, and pointing to the marker.
63 obviously knew where Marker 'C' was without need of a map, and brushed it away with a second look at the spear.
"Interesting.." He said. "Did you find anything else?"
"No.." Replied 108. "But, I didn't really stick around and comb the rocks for very long. It's tough terrain.."
"We should go back there tomorrow night. A few of us. And do a broad sweep of the area.." Stated 75 boldly.
63 at him for a long moment and, as if pondering the consequences, rubbed his chin.
"Alright." He said finally, with a distinct air of authority. "I suppose it's not too far away.. But 109 must still complete his first mapping solo, and 112, you stay behind - you're not yet qualified to be out there. Alright? Alright."
And with that he handed 96 the spearhead back and retired into the shelter with 67 trailing not far behind.
Although I pretended to be quietly frustrated by the decision, I was really smiling ear to ear. I'd avoid those alien riddled rocks as long as I could manage it, I thought.
108, 109 and I were the last to retire to the shelter; we sat facing east, at the ready to mark the sunrise on the time-sheet.
The sky grew from green to orange, and then from purple to blue. And with an explosion of godly light, the devilish, spiteful sun was born again.
We retreated from the futile battle, rubbing our eyes and tripping up over each other like idiots. I found my sleeping spot next to 96 and we chatted under our breath about the "unfairness" and the "cruel-treatment" I was suffering by not being allowed to partake in the exploration the next day.
When the chatter had all but died down, 75 listed out those who would accompany him to the sight of the discovery. And I learned, much to my distress, that I was to be the only one left behind at the shelter..
And, so went from feeling rather happy I wasn't the "crewman" that gets killed by some monster five minutes after they land on the planet, so to speak, to worrying that I was really the guy that stays on the ship and something is up there, and it kills me.
101 divided us into pairs leaving himself to act alone as director. He directed 109 and I to the dune furthest of the three chosen, to collect ten long and reasonably straight sticks, and await further instruction at the top.
I didn't think to protest my fears of a possible alien attack; the dune didn't seem far away enough to warrant any concern. My worries only surfaced when I looked back at the shelter from afar; I hadn't gone more than twenty meters from it since arriving, I felt like a wildebeest-calf straying from the herd.
"So.. What do you do.." 109 ask with a nervous laugh.
It did well to ease my nerves.
"Oh you know, the usual nine to five.. I've got a little place on an alien planet I like to go on the weekends.." I replied in a stupid voice.
"Sounds like we've got a lot in common.." He laughed back.
We lost sight of the shelter as we traversed the trees that moated the dunes; shoulder to shoulder, we quickened our pace until it came into view again.
We scrambled to the top of our destined dune and I whistled and waved to let the others know where we were. The other pairs waved back from their perches with failed whistles and mock bird-calls to lighten the shadows a bit.
We slid back down the sand to selectively break limbs from the endless supply of burnt trees below. With a kind of therapeutic satisfaction, they snapped off easily from their trunks with a sharp pop.
The branches were all reasonably straight, and most grew out to sharp points with few offshoots.
"You have to wonder how these little trees ever grew at all.." I said to make conversation.
I showed 109 a branch's cross-section that revealed a pencil width of unburned wood, what I assumed to be wood anyway, at the core.
"How could they possibly grow in this sunlight? And in sand, without water?" 109 argued.
"Yeah, I know right.. Who knows? Maybe they're not as dead as they look." I said, studying the core of the branch in the moonlight.
We were soon sitting on a pile of sticks at the top of the dune, awaiting orders while discussing the possible life-cycles of the alien trees. Our inquiry led us to working our way through the pile, examining the core of each stick until our curiosity sent us venturing back down the dune again for further investigation.
We dug around the base of a tree in order to investigate the state the roots, but instead discovered a widening trunk and more burnt branches buried beneath the sand.
The more we dug, the more tree we found.
"These trees could be a hundred meters tall and we wouldn't know it!" 109 said as we finally gave up the dig.
With a new perspective, we climbed the dune for a better view.
Our suspicions were affirmed by the way the treeline contoured the space between the dunes; the mummified forest beneath us was merely it's wind-excavated canopy.
"It still doesn't make sense.." I said. "Where did all this sand come from?"
"It seems it blew in from out of nowhere." Answered 109. "The trees definitely didn't see it coming."
Movement behind us made us spin around in fright, thinking we had somehow summoned the force in question.
To our relief, it was 101 dragging a heavy branch up the dune with one hand while the other hugged his phone, pen and paper and water bottle.
"Hey, can you give me a hand with this?" He asked with an effort.
We relieved 101 of the heavy club-like branch for the final few meters as he stretched his back.
"There's.. a moon about to rise.." He pointed, still catching his breath. "As soon as it peeks it's bald head over the horizon.. you start your watch."
He dropped his armful of gear to free both hands and stretched his back further.
"Sketch the mountain ridge where the moon rises from, with as much detail as you can. Leave some room for the times." He added with a thrust of his finger at the horizon like an exhausted fencer.
Apparently more keen to get moving than exhausted, he took the branch from us and drove its thinner end head-first into the sand like a stake.
"While one of you sketches, the other needs to make a mallet.. the smaller trees break off at their trunks if you give them a hard kick." He said, putting his weight on the stake with twisting motion. "Bang this down to the height of someone sitting up straight with their back against it, OK? That's important.."
He brushed the charcoal from his hands briefly before settling down to scrutinise our stick-pile.
After a quick process of elimination he handed me one of his choice sticks.
"This'll be straight enough, you can use your water bottles as levels if you make a few markings," he said, revealing his own makeshift water level, "level off the top of this dune as best you can.."
He then stood with his back to the stake, and speared the end of another choice stick between his heels. The other end he pointed north at the star, like a guard with a pike at attention. Slowly he loosened his grip and sat on his hunkers, to maintain a reasonably accurate direction.
We watched attentively as he determined the bearing of the rising moon based on a rough compass made by placing two other sticks at south and east, and then delicately pointing another at the moon in the same fashion as the star.
"..South, eighty degrees, East." He concluded after a mumbling computation. "Write that down would you 109? OK, any questions?"
I looked to 109.
"No, I think we're good." I answered for us as 109 jotted down the bearing.
"OK, good. I'll see you in an hour and we'll drive the first marker in!" He said with a big smile of excitement.
With a springboard step and hop, he jumped off the edge and down the dune.
"By the way, they're not tree trunks!" 109 called after him. They're the tree-tops!"
101 stopped mid stride and nearly fell over into a roll.
"What? What do you mean?" He called back.
"Dig! You wont find roots, you'll only find more trunk and branches!" I answered.
He looked down at the trees for a moment and then back up at us.
"It's a buried forest!" 109 reiterated for me. "They could be a hundred meters tall!"
101 looked out into the dunes for the bigger picture, and put his hands on his head in disbelief.. "This place gets weirder every time I look at it!" He laughed. "Where the hell did all this sand come from!"
We threw our hands up as a salute to the answers unknown, and 101 laughed a farewell down the dune.
"Oh, I almost forgot!" He yelled from the bottom. "Decide on a name for your moon!"
While 109 sketched the moonrise, I stomped a mallet out of the tree-top I had decapitated with an flying Bruce Lee kick.
As we leveled off the area around the stake we bounced name ideas back and forth. Countless variations of Moon and Apollo and Luna were quickly rejected, until we decided the warming light in the dark should be named after our Mother, it was our first thought actually, and it couldn't be beaten.
75 came to visit and found us smoothing off the levelled sand by the grain, like Buddhists in a Zen garden. He was delighted to tell us that not only had he and 96 decided upon Maree also, but 100 and 103 as well. Our moon would from then on be referred to as 'Maree-Three', which had a nice ring to it we thought.
75 had brought with him the bound stack of writings to share and circulate around the dunes.
"..to help pass the time." He said, as he pealed away a third of the stack for us. "Just remember what I told you: don't expect to find a way home in here.. Keep an open mind."When 75 left we delved feverishly in our third of the writings like they were the answers for an exam we were about to sit.
We found nothing but a widening trunk, and more burnt branches..
The writings were, as 75 had promised, mostly unreadable.
One thing however, was made clear: The Order had been dangerously obsessed with the counting and comparing of anything found to be countable; whether it be found in the groceries or in the seams of our collars; counting dominated the material.
The hastily written conclusions at the bottom of each page of data were heavily laced with the frustration of trying to make sense of nonsense. I could only shake my head as it was dragged into re-living the madness of the author; it was written my in hand-writing after all.
"..consistent variations of grains per loaf in counts for batches D, E and F implies evidence for imperfect copying," I read aloud with a tone of confusion, "therefore, the varying degrees by which individuals differ on arrival must be considered and justifies precautions taken to date..?"
109 looked up from his page with a wobbly exhale.
"..he took longer to die than normal. I tried to comfort him as he bled out. I think he died of fright in the end.." He read from his pile.
I didn't want to hear it, so I didn't make sense of the words.
"What's the stopwatch say?" I asked to interrupt.
"Fifty Five, Twenty." He replied with a sigh. "..do you want to hit the thing in, or sight it?"
101 joined us at one minute before the hour to supervise. We had already observed the distant silhouettes of 100 and 103 complete the simple process. But, obligingly, we set the first marker in as per 101's meticulously rationalised, step-by-step guide.
After he had taken 109's seat at the sighting position to double check, he instructed us on how best to tie a thread of cotton at the base of the stick at level with the sand, with the aid of his prototype 'water-bottle tied to a stick' tool he designed since the last time we saw him.
"I was just with 75 and 96, we were talking about establishing a meter rule.." 101 told us. "Something we can duplicate, to refer to if we should ever have to take an accurate measurement of something. We figured we need something uniform to start with. Like, say, the width of our thumbnail for instance. That could replace the centimeter.. one hundred thumbnail widths to equal a meter, and so on. What do you think?"
109 and I scratched our heads.
"..because this will all be blown away when we come back to it tomorrow night." He explained. "We need to record the markers heights and positions accurately.."
"Right, of course.." I nodded, thinking.
"Anyway, something to think about." He concluded as he checked his itinerary.
Then, with a mumble of numbers he half ran and half skied blindly down the dune to his next appointment.
"It makes you wonder.." 109 began as we watched 101's descent.
"What's that?" I asked.
"..who the hell am I?" He laughed.
"He is, therefore I am.." I responded in a priestly-manner before considering the implications of my words.
"It does make you wonder." I agreed.
After smoothing our "Zen Garden" of all footprints, we made our way through the remainder of the writings allocated to us; intermittently reading aloud selective passages that disturbed or confused us least.
"..I don't know How, I don't know Why; I only know Who and When. That's Me and Now.." Quoted 109.
"That's true I suppose. That's definitely one of the better ones. Listen to this.." I said, clearing my throat. "..why must I feel guilt if I see no signs of any punishment pending. The satellite judges all, but sentences not? I am tempted to do something truly awful, if only to hear them tell me to stop.."
109 shook his head.
"That's messed up.." was all he ch a look disgust.
After a long stare into the dunes we decided that madness was the only possible explanation.
"It's all>"Here's something useful maybe:" I said unconvinced, "..I am in hell. Rocks and then boulders, and then the boulders open up into steep jagged mounds of rock and gorges. I found my way back to the sand when the sun was rising, with only enough time to dig myself a hole to hide in, in the shade of a dune.."
After skim-reading a few pages of untitled data, I found something written in tiny print down the margin.
"..I miss the guilt," I read slowly, "I miss the fear. I no longer hunger for home with the same pain, I miss that dearly too.."
"..when will they send me home?" 109 read as soon as I was done. "When I have killed enough? Survived enough? Cried enough? When will they recognise the sacrifices I've made? What more do I have to do to satisfy their test? Have I not won? Am I not Lord of these sands? Am I not King of this Godforsaken planet?"
"Lord and King?" I asked with a look disgust.
After a long stare into the dunes we decided that madness was the only possible explanation.
"It's all so dark, and horrible.." I said flicking back through my pile. "I hate to say it, but I'm beginning to think it wasn't such a terrible thing the shelter collapsed."
I listened to the words as they echoed in my head.
"No, I don't mean that." I retracted, "But, you know what I mean right? They were sick."
"I know what you mean." 109 agreed bluntly. "They're forever justifying killing by backing it up with senseless evidence; it's a one sided debate.."
"It's nonsense.." I agreed.
"I realise there's no alternative to killing, it's survival." He continued. "Why do they feel the need to justify it so adamantly?"
"I guess, the guilt.." I replied, handing him my pile. "Or it could be guilt for the lack of it. God, I don't know."
109 secured the stack under the remaining sticks and checked the time.
"Forty Six, twenty.." He told me, before his attention was diverted down the dune. "This must be 101 coming up now."
It was 75, with more writings to circulate.
He swapped the stack under the stick-pile with the new lot, and sat with us, thoughtful and content.
"The Order was a dark place in it's early days." He said finally. "When you read the writings a few times over you begin to recognise that the themes are unchanging. It always comes back to fear."
He reached into his pocket and found a lonely cigarette wrapped up in the empty pack.
"We need fear sometimes, to survive. But we can't live on fear alone.." He said as he lit the cigarette. "Fear makes you run, which is helpful at first.. but when you stop running you hide away, you think you're living on fear but it's really feeding on you, and leads you unwittingly to paralysis.. And stagnation, and self-torture, and ultimately death."
He passed me the cigarette as the words rippled in my mind.
"These guys were shut-ins," he said, "and very alone. They had nine other people around them and there's no mention of any group activity in the writings.."
"I noticed that too.." concurred 109.
"..that's why we have to keep doing things like this," he said, pointing out 100 and 103's small silhouettes being directed by a frantically pointing 101, "talking, and sharing ideas, and doing things together.. that I'm certain of."
109 passed him back his cigarette when he had remembered the task at hand.
101 returned in time to observe the setting of the second marker, but didn't intervene nearly as much. He appeared to be reading his palms.
"I think my Maree-One is moving slower than Maree-Three here, 101.." said 75.
"It's catching up?" 101 asked, looking up from his hands.
"I'm not sure, I think so.." 75 replied. "What you got there?"
"What?" He asked puzzled. "Oh, nothing. No, I was thinking.. if we have the same palm-lines, you know, palm-prints or whatever; we could make our new centimeter the distance between two lines or two points or something.."
Our ears pricked up at the notion.
"Let's find out," 75 suggested with a laugh, "I am going to freak out if they're not the same.."
They read and compared palms in the moonlight. 109 and I followed suit.
Our palm-prints were, as far as we could tell, exactly the same.
Hour by hour 109 and I tracked Maree-Three across the sky.
We passed the time reassembling the Sunday morning that brought us both to the planet, step by step, and concluded that the only differences we were able to identify was he remembered the lighter, and he chose the grey T-shirt instead of a blue. Everything else he could think of was exactly the same as I remembered it, and vise-versa; down to the bread and biscuits, and the thoughts of kung-fu.
I quizzed 109 on the significant events of my past; he finished my sentences.
"..so we are the same." He proposed.
"Well, 75 says we're not anymore, not since we arrived anyway.." I replied, still thinking.
"Right.." 109 agreed after a brief rearrangement of thought, "because, now, we're living out our own individual life-lines?"
"Yeah.. I think." I said, surprised by how effortlessly 109 drew his conclusion.
He hummed a thought for a moment.
"..we're living our own separate lives now, now that we are on the same planet together!"
"Yeah.." Was all I could say.
It sure is a brain-bleeder.." He added, rubbing his face with both hands and laughing in defeat.
"Are you kidding?" I laughed to match, "I don't think my brain has stopped bleeding since I got here.."
When we had exhausted conversation, we reluctantly started on the new pile of writings. I discovered someone had sketched a series of star-charts; proposing potential candidates for constellations drawn from predominant stars. We made a game out of finding them in the sky above to pass the time, which lead to us forging a few of our own - with 109 and 112 initialled alongside in tiny print.
"Hey, it's not like they were any more qualified.." I assured 109 as he joined the dots to make a sailing boat. "And that's definitely a boat, no question about it."
109 sighed a long shaken sigh at the sky.
"Do you actually believe we're going to find a way home?" he asked, looking down from the stars with an emotional appeal for honesty. "I mean really, what do you think? Do you think there's a chance?"
I laughed involuntarily as my central nervous system spasmed from the intense eye contact.
"Well, yeah, sure.. I mean, we have to. Right?" Said my optimist finally, with a strained tone of uncertainty. "It's out there, somewhere, I think. We just have to find it.."
109 sighed at the sky again.
"I want to believe that we will get home as easy as we left. But, I can't help but feel we're in way over our heads.." He admitted with an honesty that hit the back of my throat with a sharp ache.
We sat in the light breeze in depressing 0e P 0C0b 6101 returned to shake us awake.
"It's heavy stuff alright.." He said, looking down at the seemingly discarded pile of writings. "Common, 'M.3.' is almost set.."
We stretched away our negativity and rose to our feet with 101 clapping his hands like a school teacher.
I gladly sketched the moon-set as 101 and 109 recorded the positions of our markers with respect to the new Rule: the shortest distance between two distinct parallel lines nestled in the centre of our palms. 101 told us they considered the distance between our belt notches. But, discovered in the writings, by pure coincidence actually, was, of course, a lengthily record of varying belt notch lengths.
As we were all making the finishing touches to the record, our focus was diverted by a sudden commotion; from the shelter. I could see 75 and 96 had heard it too, and were standing to investigate.
"What's going on!" 101 yelled in the shelter's direction.
The silhouettes of 75 and 96 were calling for answers also.
Finally, an excited reply was granted us:
"108 found something!"
Without a second thought, we leaped down our respective dunes and raced for the shelter.
Huffing and puffing, we pushed our way into the tight circle of bodies that encompassed the discovery; eager to see it for ourselves and completely unconcerned about any one's interpretation.
It was a spearhead, plain and simple. Tin-can; tightly rolled into a solid point at one end, and into a cup fit for the shaft at the other; with a lolly-wrapper twist in the centre to divide the two.
It was difficult to imagine just how they managed to shape the tin in such a way, but our attentions were drawn to a more pressing question.
"Just what exactly was it used against?" 103 asked 75, assuming that he had more of a basis on which to form an answer on.
75 exhaled a slow, thoughtful breath, and rubbed the back of his neck as he searched the stars for an explanation.
"Well, there are only a few possibilities I can think of.." He said, taking his thumb to bullet his first point. "One: they were used to fight off something predatory. Two: they were used to hunt prey.. Or Three: They used them against each other."
"What about the aliens? The satellite people, I mean.." I blurted out.
"No, surely they'd just vaporise the spears with their ray-guns." 109 assured me queitly.
"It's a time-perfected design for sure.." 100 said as he took his turn to handle it.
101 took the spearhead from him when he had decided his turn was over, and peered closely at the black soot that coated it.
"It's hard to tell if it's blood; human blood.." He noted to himself. "I sure hope it was prey."
"What was it doing all they way out there though.. Where did you find it 108?" 109 asked.
"I just stumbled upon it when I was climbing a mound of rock past the dunes, to sight the North Star." He replied simply. "I looked around for a bit, but.. To be honest, as soon as I considered 'Possibility-One', I got the hell out of there."
"Fair enough." 109 agreed.
The spearhead finally made its way to me and I held it up to the moonlight. There was a hole punched through the base; a hole the same size through a shaft of wood, and wound with a cord of sorts would have secured it tightly, I imagined. I touched what I imagined to be sun-burnt alien blood lightly with my forefinger and smelt it; expecting to discover it's origins somehow.
"Charcoal." I concluded aloud, passing it on to 109 quickly.
I rubbed my hands on my jeans instinctively as precautions against the alien virus still lingering.
"If there's a spear, then there must be remains of it's victims somewhere, right?" 109 suggested. "There's nothing about hunting in the writings?"
"No, I'm certain there's no mention of hunting, or spears for that matter.." Replied 75.
With a collective "Hmmm" we thought deeply in silence for a long spell, until it was broken by the return of 63 and 67.
"What is it tonight?" 63 asked 75 with a smirk grin.
96 handed him the spearhead without a word, and 63 found himself with an expectant audience.
"108 came across it, out exploring." 96 explained quickly.
"Where?" Asked 63 simply, seemingly not overly impressed.
"Ah, just north of marker.. 'C'. Marker 'C'." He replied respectfully, showing 63 his small cardboard map, and pointing to the marker.
63 obviously knew where Marker 'C' was without need of a map, and brushed it away with a second look at the spear.
"Interesting.." He said. "Did you find anything else?"
"No.." Replied 108. "But, I didn't really stick around and comb the rocks for very long. It's tough terrain.."
"We should go back there tomorrow night. A few of us. And do a broad sweep of the area.." Stated 75 boldly.
63 at him for a long moment and, as if pondering the consequences, rubbed his chin.
"Alright." He said finally, with a distinct air of authority. "I suppose it's not too far away.. But 109 must still complete his first mapping solo, and 112, you stay behind - you're not yet qualified to be out there. Alright? Alright."
And with that he handed 96 the spearhead back and retired into the shelter with 67 trailing not far behind.
Although I pretended to be quietly frustrated by the decision, I was really smiling ear to ear. I'd avoid those alien riddled rocks as long as I could manage it, I thought.
108, 109 and I were the last to retire to the shelter; we sat facing east, at the ready to mark the sunrise on the time-sheet.
The sky grew from green to orange, and then from purple to blue. And with an explosion of godly light, the devilish, spiteful sun was born again.
We retreated from the futile battle, rubbing our eyes and tripping up over each other like idiots. I found my sleeping spot next to 96 and we chatted under our breath about the "unfairness" and the "cruel-treatment" I was suffering by not being allowed to partake in the exploration the next day.
When the chatter had all but died down, 75 listed out those who would accompany him to the sight of the discovery. And I learned, much to my distress, that I was to be the only one left behind at the shelter..
And, so went from feeling rather happy I wasn't the "crewman" that gets killed by some monster five minutes after they land on the planet, so to speak, to worrying that I was really the guy that stays on the ship and something is up there, and it kills me.
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