4- Hard Landing
It was a few weeks before I had my chance. That morning, Dad lined my brothers up in the kitchen.
“Boys, these next few weeks are going to be tough,”—he began this speech the same way every year. “I am asking for the better part of your time, your labor, and-“ he turned to look pointedly at me –“your focus. I am not asking this of you because it’s fun, I am not asking this of you because I am your father, I am asking this because this is your work to support the livelihood of this family; because this is the part you play in feeding your fellow man. Grain from our farm has, in prior years, made its way as far as the outer kingdoms and been put on tables across Inner-space to provide sustenance for untold hundreds, maybe thousands of people.
Your work matters. It matters to those untold numbers when you feed them; it matters to your family when you help provide for our well-being; it matters to God when you work in a way that glorifies Him. God knows the quality of your work, boys, he knows the sacrifices you make to produce it. He knows that there are other things you would rather be doing, another life you might rather be living. But this is the life you have, and I want you to be able to report to God at the end of all things and tell him about your work, and for him to say that it was very good.”
I tried not to roll my eyes. It’s the same stuff every year and Dad always does most of the work anyway. I drive a harvester and Darius drives a processor and Lucas wasn’t old enough to drive so he worked the packing equipment. Mariam and Mom prepare food for us and sweep the granary to make sure we don’t drop anything or none of the bags of grain burst—every ounce of grain is money in our pockets, so we can’t afford any waste. Dad manages the whole thing, he walks around and barks orders—he is the scariest during the harvest.
I knew I needed to get out before the harvest started or else I would be stuck—a task unfinished, left my family in the lurch. If I got out early, at least they could plan around me not being there. I was doing them a favor. I would go to space, get it out of my system, and of course come home just as soon as I was satisfied. One system, maybe two, then back. Just seeing a new planet from orbit would—I wiped a tear from my eye, the thought always got me. This was my dream. If I didn’t make it happen, it would never happen.
At dinner that night, Dad noticed I was uneasy: “Tylus, you’re awfully quiet tonight.”
“Yeah!” Lucas chimed in, “Normally you’ve got somethin’ about Inner Space to tell us about, didja stop reading for the harvest?”
Darius saw the look on my face and knew I wasn’t in a joking mood—he punched Lucas gently on the arm and said “Shut up, El!”
I said, “Just a lot on my mind I guess,” to throw them off the trail. I could feel my Moms eyes burning a hole in the side of my head, I couldn’t look at her.
I could see my Dad’s jaw tense up and release a couple times. “Son…” he started.
“Not now.” Mom said with finality. He looked at her, she looked back. They had a wordless conversation.
“Son, I want you to teach Lucas to drive. He’s young but we could use the extra pair of hands, I’d like you to stick with me and start learning the process for this harvest. I have a lot to teach you and the harvest is the best time to learn.”
“Well now, that’s very nice, isn’t it dear? I know how much you love learning.” Mom said through a painted smile. “More peas anyone?”
* * *
Over the last few days, I had been filling a bag with food enough for a day or two (how long would it take to get on a ship?), what little money I had, some clothes, a notebook so I could document my adventures. It was enough to get me to the spaceport at Landers and talk my way onto a ship somehow. That thought filled me with stress, and so I pushed it out of my mind. One thing at a time, I just needed to get there. I had filled the bag enough and hid it in a ditch near the road. The wheat was high enough that I wouldn’t be seen, and hopefully if I stopped a truck I would be gone in a flash. If I didn’t—well, there was always the next day. I just needed an excuse to get out there.
The trucks always passed by after dinner was over, so I could watch for them and get their timing down. It was always about 1800 hours that the first truck went by, and the next ones followed at regular intervals. So after dinner I said I was going for a walk and asked if anyone wanted to join me—I had started doing this weeks ago so it wouldn’t be unusual. No one ever joined.
I stepped outside and caught the evening sun. The colors in the sky were beautiful—an orange band on the horizon, the yellow light of the star, and a surprising amount of heat from the direct light. It smelled like the harvest—fields of wheat ready to be cut down and ground up. A warm breeze blew over the wheat making it wave, like a crowd calling to me. I walked down our long driveway—past the spot where I stalled on my first escape attempt, down the stretch of road where I sat awkwardly in the back of the tractor while Dad drove me home after the second escape attempt. There at the end of the driveway, off to the left in the ditch, was the bag I stashed there. I turned and walked down the street until I couldn’t see my front door through the wheat, then dove into the ditch and grabbed my bag. It wouldn’t be long now; the trucks would be coming soon.
It wasn’t long before I saw the first truck come over the Horizon. I started walking in the direction of Landers and looked back to keep tabs on where the truck was. When it was close, I paused and started waving my hands at it. The truck didn’t slow down, just sped right past me without a second thought. I yelled at it and shook my fist as it drove away, but I could already see the second Truck off in the distance. I resumed my walk but this time walked in the middle of the road. I could see the truck coming, surely it would stop. I waved my hands again from the middle of the road, and this time, miraculously, the truck slowed down.
The driver rolled down his window and leaned out. “What are you doin’ in the road, boy! Go on ‘n git! Git out the road!”
I ran up to his window. “I need a lift to Landers; can you take me?”
“This ent no taxi service, I’m on a schedule!”
“I can pay!” I held out the little bit of money I had.
The driver leaned back, but stared at the money. “Aw heck get in boy if you’ll let me keep moving.”
“Thank you!” I said as I ran around to the opposite door and climbed in.
The truck felt spacious and comfortable—the seats were padded, the driver had papers and food trash scattered around the front of the cab. He had an open bottle of something in a cup holder and there were more gauges and dials on his dashboard than I expected to see on a simple hauler. The smell was foul and the seat was warm from the evening sun hitting the black fabric of the seat, but the driver didn’t seem affected.
“Where are you headed to?” the driver asked as he resumed down the road.
“The spaceport.” I said.
“That’s not on the way for me so I’ll drop you off close as I can get you. Hope you aren’t planning to get on a ship that way—they don’t slow down.”
“Oh I know.”
“Hope you have more money ‘n that too, trips to space aren’t cheap. If you can’t afford a ride a few miles down the road…”
“I’ll figure it out. I just need to get there. Have you ever been to space?”
“Nah. Nothin up there I want to see that I can’t see from down here.”
“No way! I can’t wait. It’ll be my first time off world—one day, I want to see every planet in Inner-space.”
“Uh-huh. Plan to hitch every time then?”
I laughed. “No just this once. I figure I’ll see a few nearby systems and then come back.”
“Your family know your plan?”
My heart raced. “I…uh, yes. Yes they do, this was the best way, we don’t have a lot of money you see.”
“Didn’t see much of a send off for you, is all.”
“I’ll be back, they know it.”
The driver gave me a sidelong glance and smirked. “Gotcha.”
The drive was quiet the rest of the way.
* * *
Landers City rose over the horizon like a lost city emerging from underground. I could see the tallest spires first, and then the smaller ones, before the more modest sized buildings. The farms gradually gave way to more and more buildings and side roads, the traffic gradually increased. That’s the funny thing about cities—it’s not like you walk through a gate and ‘there you are!’—they emerge, they coalesce out of the surrounding landscape, and the people gather with it.
The dirt road was suddenly paved, and the gentle rocking of the repulsors over the uneven surface smoothed out. The paved road swelled into a many-line highway, and suddenly the truck was surrounded on all sides by impossibly tall towers. I imagined this must be what it was like to be a mouse in a wheat field, looking up at all the stalks ready for harvest.
The driver took an exit, took a turn, left, right, stop at an intersection and wait. I was thoroughly turned around, but at some point he pulled to the side of the road and said, “Here y’ar. Spaceport is to the left a ways, cross the street. You’ll see signs before too long.”
“Here?” I asked.
“Yessir, I can’t take you any farther without taking you to the warehouse with me and that’s no good. And uh…” he coughed uncomfortably.
“Oh, yes, the money. Here!” I handed him what I had—it amounted to maybe six Sovereigns.
“This is it? Blast it all, Marvin, why do I do stupid things like this all the blasted time—” he cursed at himself as I got out of the cab, and drove away.
Suddenly, I found myself in the middle of Landers City. I hadn’t expected to get this far. People dressed in a weird mosaic of formal looking suits, casual wear, and exotic outfits the likes of which I had never seen before. The driver had said that the spaceport was to the left a ways and I would see signs for it—I set to walking down the street, eyes peeled for signs indicating the spaceport. I hoped a ship taking off would give itself away, so I kept tuned to my surroundings.
I kept walking straight for several blocks but didn’t see any signage indicating the spaceport nor did I see any ships taking off. The traffic on the streets and the sidewalks became less dense and the long shadows of the buildings made it seem later than it was. I needed to find the spaceport and get inside before night—I could feel a chill in the air already.
I decided to finally ask someone. I went up to someone waiting to cross the street and they ignored me, pretending to listen to some device on their heads. I tried going up to someone else—“Excuse me, but—” and they replied with some crude language.
Finally, I saw a group of four people walking towards me. “Excuse me, please!” I asked, desperate. “I am trying to find the spaceport, do you know the way?”
Among the four was a big giant of a man, carrying a large overstuffed duffel bag, an older man with marbled gray-white hair tied back in a pony tail, an olive-skinned woman who was wearing a backpack, and trailing a bit behind them all was a shorter man with flecks of gray in his black hair and glasses, carrying heavy looking bags in each hand.
It was the woman who tried to answer: “Yes, just follow this street here to the right for a few blocks more, and turn left. You won’t miss it.”
The old man with the pony tail said, “We are going there now, join us if you like.”
His companions immediately looked at him—I sensed they weren’t looking for guests. “No, that’s alright, thank you for the directions—”
“Nonsense, join us! We are going the same direction.” He clapped me on the shoulder and began walking, almost pushing me along with him. “My name’s Ulysses Daenid.” He held out his hand.
“Tylus Worran.” I said, shaking his hand. “I really appreciate this, I have never been to the spaceport before.”
“Are you catching a flight?”
“Not exactly,” I said, “I am looking for a way off world so I can see the stars. I don’t have any money, so I am hoping I can work my way. That’s allowed, right?”
Ulysses chuckled, “Of course it is, Tylus, of course it is. In fact—”
The woman said “Ulysses—”
“—Why don’t you come work for me? I’ve got—”
“Ulysses!” The woman interjected, insistently
“—a ship and we could use an extra pair of hands.”
“What?” I stammer. “No, I—”
“Ulysses, dammit, can I have a word?”
The woman took Ulysses and turned him around, towards the trailing two companions. They whispered insistently, and I stood awkwardly at the fringe.
“Listen, if it’s trouble, I can—”
Ulysses broke away from the group. “No trouble at all, Tylus. I am sorry for their manners. This here is Sazana Sotho, my pilot. The big man back there is Astor Munn, he’s been with me from the beginning. The other fella is Tomaz Marino, our Navcom guru, been with me almost as long as Astor. Got a bunch more you’ll meet on the ship.”
I waved timidly, “Nice to meet you all.” They nodded back expressionlessly.
“Thing is, Tylus, we could always use more hands—many hands make light work, you know? But the ship isn’t very big and we’ve been looking for work ourselves.”
“What kind of work do you do?”
“Traders, more or less. More about that when we get to the ship, but in the meantime how about you tell me about yourself? Where are you from, Tylus?”
(originally published 6/6/22)
I liked this. I've read ahead a little bit - not done yet - but to address your earlier comment, I think the introduction of the group at the end works fine. It is 'easy' for Tylus, in a way, but I actually think you should lean into this - it was a little *too* quick, and too easy, for this group to accept him, and later on Tylus might discover that they were quick to accept him because they had some nefarious purpose in doing so.
You might have already done this - I'll find out later! - but those are my initial thoughts on this part of the story.
Oooh, I have a bad feeling about this, especially when the man said, "Traders, more or less". Maybe it's my lawyer brain, but that ambiguity seems ominous. 😬