Meraiah

By Daniel Paul Davis

Pilot Meraiah Blanchard awakens on an alien planet that looks oddly familiar. She soon realizes that, since she is a captive of the aliens her fellow humans are at war with, and since she is alive, these aliens want something from her. They probably want her to do something. She realizes that her training forbids helping these aliens. Yet, what if helping an alien means helping the human earthlings?
What if a human didn't do what everyone knows a human will do?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Daniel Paul Davis
• Release date: Mar 13, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463538005

Daniel Paul Davis

2 earned degrees + 3 teaching credentials (I won't call those "earned") = knowing more than I should about a sizeable clutch of useless stuff. However, after 25 years in education, I know 2 things about education: 1) How to teach. 2) No principal wants me to actually teach. Bonus 3) They want students indoctrinated. Thus, I write. "Do you have a degree in ___________?" Nope. I have 2 degrees in English, which means I know 2 things: 1) How to read. 2) How to research. Bonus 3) I remember what I read (why do you think I majored in English?!) Thus, the work I have here presented: researching the history was not that difficult, nor was winnowing out the frou-frou. Especially easy is seeing what is frou-frou. Gossip: Married; 3 daughters, all adult; 1 grandchild; 1 worthless, illegal alien, lying ex-son-in-law; empty bank account; full belly. If I ever have a full bank account, I plan to fast.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Meraiah remained prone, keeping her eyes closed, being prone to mentally check things before opening her eyes. Don’t let others know one is awake until one can do something about it. Consciousness ran down the body. Deep breath: if the lungs work, the suit is intact and the air supply works. Skin seems dry: no blood. No pain, either. Wait, what’s that? Headache. Muscles slowly tense and relax: nothing’s broken; bruise here or there, but nothing serious. Last memory: guiding the damaged ship to land on a planet she shouldn’t land on. Someone living here probably has a name for it, but we’ve no way of knowing what that is. Heh, we probably couldn’t pronounce it if we did. Meraiah always wanted to name a planet, Mecca-Lecka-High-Mecca-Heinie-Ho because that’d be a grand slam: half couldn’t pronounce it and the other half wouldn’t pronounce it. They would change the name to something simpler, Earth maybe. Ha ha. I feel intact and healthy. Eyes open and Meraiah gazes intently at the beautiful, wide, blue sky. Blue means water; where’s my ship? Okay, I’m awake as she slowly lifted her head to find the horizon, saw land between her and there, and sat up.

She checked the water supply on her suit: adequate . . . for now. She checked the air outside: adequate . . . for now. She should be able to save her oxygen, at least, and slide the visor back. Yeah, well, there was that one time on Garth’s planet when the sensors said everything was hunky dory, but later everyone realized they were breathing aerolized mercury. Say, didn’t that happen to a Japanese city, once? Expecting to suddenly begin gasping, Meraiah slid the visor back. Nothing, not even an odor (except her sweaty suit.) She turned the oxygen off, slowly stepped around in a circle, and realized the ship was gone. Nice trick, she muttered, nodding. No wreckage. I’m being played.

Once upon a time in a land far away. If I’m in a fairy tale, where’s the castle? But yeah, I guess I’m the maiden to be rescued. Meraiah looked at her wrist com, nudged the setting, and turned it off. She looked around her again: "Is that hill big enough to hide a ship? The land’s not as flat as a pancake, but hasn’t any shape like an oven cake. I guess I am hungry. Oh well, tough. I don’t even know what’s edible here. The air is good; I can make a soufflé. I don’t know where I am; therefore, no one else knows where I am; therefore, I’m not being rescued. If there is a rescue, they’ll go to the ship . . . or the rescuers are being played. Rescue is only possible if I find the ship. Crap. Whoever put me here took the ship so I couldn’t be rescued, and if I find the ship, I get to be both trap and trapped. What a privilege! I will assume this planet is inhabited and that the inhabitants are hostile and cannot be trusted. Except I crash landed and am still alive. Are the inhabitants psychotic or merely capricious? This had better not be some Beauty and the Beast because the Beast is always less interesting when he finally breaks the spell."

Meraiah crouched down and studied the ground, and slowly walked around in widening circles, staring at the ground. Man lies under a sheet in the desert; how did he get there? They must have flown in, not walked: I don’t even see my footprints. They dropped me here, middle of nowhere, alive. Cage, zoo, or task? Scientific experiment: they’re watching my problem-solving skills. Great. If I get out alive, I’ll be giving aid to the enemy. The only way to avoid doing that is to suicide. Nice trick. Meraiah looked up at the beautiful, blue sky . . . as if she could peek thru the 2-way mirror hiding the observers. Nothing. Go to them? Or wait for them to come to me? Walking is doing something. Walk where? That non-hill seems the tallest thing so far; maybe it’ll give a better look-around.

She began walking towards a goal, however self-appointed; at least getting there was self-directed. Meraiah constantly stretched her neck around to check left, right, and behind for any signs of the ones who left her back there, prone and shipless. Her searching included noticing whether anything had changed from the last time she’d looked, which meant remember everything she saw in all its detailed boredom. Meraiah began to understand all those astronaut-pilot-soldier training exercises. He who fights and runs away, lives to fight another day! Only, sometimes running away isn’t on the menu, so walking away must serve. On the other hand, if the ‘scientists’ watching me see an intelligent analysis of and solution to the puzzle, they might reconsider warring with her cohorts. She turned around and began studying where she’d been. And this is why I learned to walk backwards. Only, Meraiah began to feel as if she were in a dance zone. Maybe I can ask Frederick to work up some synthesizer music to go with this.

Once on top of the hill, Meraiah recalled the training video Mountaintop Experience scenes: from nothing to the big reveal of the villain and almost death. She looked around. Okay, nothing this time. She could see somewhat farther than before, and see that no ship was currently visible. Not seeing anything change during the walk over, nor seeing anything useful now, meant a quandary: what now? Stay and die waiting for nothing? Meraiah remembered enough stories of bones found months or years later. "Oh, so he’s been hiding here all that time! Alien planet. No one will find any bones. The aliens will grind them up for either research or food. I wish I had a parasite right now. Oh, even better, the BSE prion! If I’m lucky, their warmonger-in-chief would eat me. Ah well, no way to become infected now with only alien scrubland for life-forms. I’m more likely to have edible pants than edible plants."

Meraiah retrieved her scanner and studied the horizon with the magnification, and saw a dust cloud spiral skyward. What, wait a minute; don’t hit send quite yet. Dust devil or alien devil? She began lowering her profile, quickly looking for visibility cover. Finding none, she lay down again and looked again. If ‘evolution’ is change over time, this situation is evolving. That dust cloud is nearing me and I don’t feel any wind. In her best Brooklyn accent, she muttered, Oh be still my beating heart.

After 5 more minutes, she realized it really was an approaching dust plume from a visible walker, not wind. You realize, of course, this means war. He . . . it? Is more than an hour away. Why is he here? Meraiah began looking at the skies as well as the horizon. All my weapons are on my ship, of course. This place has strangely few rocks showing. From her crouch, Meraiah began digging in the surprisingly-soft dirt for anything like a tool to use for her appointment an hour from now. Her hand felt a more solid shape, grasped it, and felt it while keeping her glove where it was. Good thing they make these spacesuits like diamond instead of carbon. It felt like a finger-held blade. They’re watching me; what will they do if they know I found their toy? Don’t tell them. She carefully put her right hand on her hip and left it there while she continued watching the dust cloud approach. Weaponless alien arena, she muttered. What do they expect a body to do with that tiny thing? When she thought the watchers had grown bored with her crouching there, she slipped the blade into a pocket. All the training videos end with weapons of some kind littering the arena area. Her favorite was that archaic training video where the hero builds a cannon. But, dang it all, I left my chemistry set back on the ship.

She later casually glanced at her glove: uncut. I will assume this artifact is sharp. First rule of arenas: surprise the audience. They love that. Meraiah sipped some water, casually closing the pocket cover over the blade while storing the water. Then she looked up for her appointment and saw the small cloud of dust was still approaching, maybe half an hour away, meaning she’s now visible, so she stayed down, bemoaning how all space suits are, Hey, Hey! Over here! white for the real rescuers. Not for this guy, whatever he’s here for. Or it is here for. She? Heh, possible. Even if it’s a plant like in that training video set in Antarctica, it’d be male or female. But all animals are ‘it’ because we don’t want to be bothered finding out which. And some are very angry if you try.

Meraiah suddenly realized the geometry of her situation. She looked over at where she was an hour ago. That alien is approaching where I am, not where I was. Yep. I’m being watched. They told him where to go. Dang. Meraiah rolled over on her back, slowly moved her right arm out, lifted her forearm, and waved her right hand at the sky, smiling broadly. Then she scowled, rolled back over, and checked on his progress. Male it is, then. He’d be hilarious if he walked around this promontory and kept going. Meet him or try to keep hidden? I could slowly back down the slope and learn whether he really knows I’m here or whether this is all a coincidence. Yeah. Do that. She also thought of how many training videos she had seen in which the whole story hinged on the two characters meeting. But I don’t expect this story to have a happy ending, so I don’t want the meeting.

He’s not going around. Meraiah began to edge away down the other side, looking for the thing’s eyes to know whether the retreating crab in this scene was seen. He walked up towards where she was, stood on what must be legs, looked around, and continued walking down the hill. Oblivious or stupid? Did that thing really look around and not see me? And was that a space suit it wore? Maraiah slowly crawled back up the rise to look at the receding being, then looked up, then around for others. Nada. She watched him walk away down the hill and past where she came to, checking, watching, stopping.

The alien also looked around, as if it really were out here for an appointment and had missed the address. He even looked up, then returned to looking all around for something. Meraiah studied him and realized that while she was looking around in case someone else was here, this guy seemed to know someone is here and is looking for HER. Oops. How does one dodge a bullet when they keep fixing their aim?

Meraiah watched him re-approach while hashing out options. Hide? He’ll look more carefully. Since we will meet, meet him standing and ready. Stand and wait? Or stand and speak? Keep the blade where it is. If he has anything like what’s on my ship, I won’t get an opportunity to use the blade, anyway. It’s a pity I never practiced knife throwing. Circus acts never interested me. Circus acts. They’re watching. What if this is their circus? Ai yai yai. And they call humans uncivilized. Circus acts. I wonder whether their bread is free, too.

Meraiah stood up, placed her feet apart, folded her arms behind her back, and waited at parade rest for him to approach. The moment she stood up, he lifted his head, stopped, his face brightened, and he hurried up to her. Let him make the first move to reveal his fighting style. Be ready to dodge left or right, but wait for it. If he’s faster than you are, there’s no point in trying. Wow, he’s really hustling uphill. Ah, there it is: slower steps, faster breathing. Sacre vache! That guy is out of shape! Or is he faking. That’s why you always choose black for chess; make the opponent reveal his mind, first. What was that training video, overweight, always out of breath, but beat the snot out of everyone? He’s not overweight. Well, not for a human, anyway. No way to know what an average alien weight is. Heh, what if aliens put on weight with height, not depth? An unconscious smile formed on her mouth. He stopped, saw that smile, and brightened more. Dang. I encouraged the enemy and forced this meeting.

Mr. Unknown Alien stepped up to Meraiah and extended something towards her while she continued staring into what she was assuming to be a face, watching for what she was assuming were eyes to look where he was next going, trying to read his mind or predict her future. She saw him extend something at her, but it approached slowly, unthreatening, so she did not flinch. She was holding her pose, every muscle ready to spring. He held the thing out to her, and after five seconds, she realized he meant her to take it. She looked down. Food rations from her ship. Dang, they’re good.

Meraiah relaxed slightly, moved her hands to her side, reached her right hand to his something and took it from his hand. Arm? Tentacle? Pod? Thank you. She said to him. She then unwrapped it and took a bite. He stood there. She broke off a piece. Do you want some? He stood there. She held the piece of food ration out to him like he held it out to her. He stared at her, standing, doing nothing else but standing. Well, um, okay. She put the piece in her mouth. Or is he waiting for me to eat the drugs they doctored this with? I’ve really no choice, here. She finished eating and put the wrapper in a different pocket than where the blade was, looked at him, and felt sorry for him still standing there watching her eat. She held her hand out to him again, and since he didn’t move, she took his hand with hers and shook it, saying, Meraiah. He finally moved his eyes, looking down at their hands, hers grasping his. She let go. His hand returned to where it was, limp, by his side.

Okay, he’s not here to attack me. This isn’t an arena. Or it is, and they have the idea of giving the contestant a sporting chance and this guy is not the opponent. He’s only the water boy. Is there more? she said, looking at him. How many languages used to be on earth? Why should I expect him to know Earthi? Meraiah took his hand again, saying, Meraiah. She could not tell whether his expression changed, so she moved his hand to point at her. Meraiah. She then flattened her palm, letting his drop back to its own parade rest, and pointed at the middle of his body. Nothing. She pointed again. Okay, now what? This isn’t a robot, is it? What is an alien programmed to do?

He suddenly put one of what he was standing on behind himself and pivoted 180˚ to begin walking back down the hill. Meraiah briefly hesitated, then followed. I shouldn’t let this food truck out of my sight. Instead, she asked, Where are we going? He kept walking, instead. Eventually, he stopped after about 3 kilometers. Why here? This place looks no different from where I came to. Meraiah walked a spiral around and away from her new guide, and quickly found a spring gently oozing from the ground and flowing away from her. Yes, but is it safe? Meraiah retrieved her water purification, added one to her reservoirs, and filled them. Nasty flavor, here we come. Finished, she walked back over to him and said, Thank you for that. I’m done, now. We can go. He didn’t move. Meraiah sang a line from classical music: Darling you got to let me know; Should I stay or should I go? He did; he didn’t. I have food and water. I can’t go anywhere. He’s my prison guard. That’s just great. Or he’s my assassin waiting until I’m asleep because why bother. Meraiah returned to the spring and followed it until she found where it pooled. There, she removed her suit, washed her clothes, washed her skin as much as she could, and re-dressed her sweaty grievance. This pilot’s suit will always smell like me, which is just as well since I’ll probably die in it. Will they roast or bury me? Heh, I won’t be around when they choose, so I don’t care. There’s a rumor I’ll get a different one and keep going.

Hey, she called. Do you guys believe in life after death? Musing to herself, I wonder whether that was worth a try. Nope. Odds are my Earthi is dog barking, to them. What did the alpha male dog say to another pack member. ‘Get your butt over here; I want to sniff it.’ R.H.I.P. What was it that instructor always said? If you don’t have a craft, you can’t take the fight to the enemy. If you don’t know hand-to-hand, you can’t take the enemy to the fight. You can’t give what you don’t have. If he can’t speak to me, I need to give that to him.

Meraiah went to him, grabbed his hand, and bumped herself with it. Meraiah. Bump. Meraiah. Bump. Meraiah. She dropped his hand and waited for student performance of the lesson. Nothing. She picked up his hand, put her hand around the outside, and folded it onto her suit. Pilot suit. Squeeze. Spacesuit. Squeeze. Spacesuit. Squeeze. She dropped his hand and waited. Nothing. She walked to the spring and cupped her hands around some water and walked back to him carefully. Water. Water. Nothing. She lifter her cupped hands to over his head and let the water run down his head. Water. And why do I feel like an idiot? I didn’t even get sparks from the guy. She pulled his whatever up and held it at mid-level, keeping him from putting it back by his side. With him finally holding it where she wanted it, she put her hands flat and pushed the air slightly, then ran to get more water. When she returned, his whatever-it-is was still held out, and she poured the water over it. Water.

CHAPTER TWO

Low-level Colonizing and Settlement functionary Gustavo Rodriguez had collected his inbox mail + messages, and walked to his desk, where he plopped them in their stack, stared at them, then sat down. Getting the distasteful out of the way first, he reached into the middle of the stack and picked out the memo written . . . only yesterday? This thing is fresh! he thought.

Regarding certain projects, our Independently Functioning Principal acknowledges the value of other systems amid the necessity for specification evolution over any given time period. Notably, the methodical input of effective information clarifies explicit performance limits to structural design when based on systems engineering models. Conversely, the primary interconnectivity between system and subsystem hardware and software mandates thorough systems analysis with the dissemination of studies in order to arrive at the initial qualification limit.

I think they’re telling me to make sure all the parts fit together . . . if I ever make any parts, I’ll be sure to remember their advice. Nice of them to warn me, tho.

Low-level Colonizing and Settlement functionary Gustavo Rodriguez then picked thru his mail, top to bottom, stopping at the one other item worth studying: Dear Sir, I am unsure whether you are the right department, but I will ask anyway. I wish to be on the next colony ship. I have my own tools and will be able to use whatever tools you provide. I can repair small motors to large engines, electrical, diesel, compressive, and even internal combustion. Please use the enclosed self-addressed, stamped envelope to inform me whether I have the correct department or must speak with someone else.

You have the right department, Low-level Colonizing and Settlement functionary Gustavo Rodriguez muttered, as the stamped envelope fell out of the mailed envelope. Heh, I didn’t realize stamps were $5.00 now. He then obtained the Book of Standards & Qualifications to check whether this potential applicant qualified and whether the next transport had a stasis chamber for the qualified person.

Sotto voce, Speaking of qualified person, then audibly, Well, howdy, fellow Low-level Colonizing and Settlement functionary Miss Stephanie Zain. Returning to his quieter self-speak, I can tell she likes me; she merely does not yet know how to express her real feelings.

Dude, said Low-level Colonizing and Settlement functionary Trevor Gonzaga, Her real feelings is she wants to report you to the boss for harassment but you never do anything she can report.

That’s how we know she is important.

Why the book?

Someone wants on the next transport.

I think half the population wants on the next transport.

Having officially defined our job, here.

So what makes this guy special?

Engine repair.

Could be useful. Which one?

He says all of them, even internal combustion.

What’s that?

Exactly. They come across technologically backward aliens, that could be useful.

I thought all aliens flew hollowed-out logs that have rocks for wheels.

You’re confusing them with cavemen.

Same thing. So do yourself a favor and forget about Miss Zain.

Forget who?

Exactly.

So, here, read this guy’s letter. Tell me what you think.

"The electrical will be most useful. Unpleasantly for him, it’s so useful that we have a number of those already booked on the transport. Diesel? I remember that. I’ll tell you the one, big problem with this guy, Gustavo: he works on antiques. Pretty much any transport is going to where we already have a moonbase and construction crews work in space suits operating electrical-powered equipment. I will simply assume that this ‘internal combustion engine’ requires an atmosphere like I know diesel does, and there never is