The Girl from a Small Cloud

By Rob Clarke

A story of two worlds, separated not only by light years but doomed to be always apart socially. The advanced race, though identical to the other, lives in fear. Not fear of extermination but of infection. The infection is sin.

Our own history tells us that the mixing of  religious dogma is fraught with peril. Getting folk to listen to a concept little different to the one they subscribe to, never seems to end well.

Imagine the problem when a two thousand year old teaching clashes with one at least ten thousand years old, one fiercely defended, even to the exclusion of the entire planets population from another planet's people.

This is a voyage into the unknown, possible yet improbable. Through time warps and a hundred and ten thousand light year separation.

One started with a software glitch and a chance encounter that brings hope of a new relationship, new concepts to explore, yet, to end, inevitably, with the human failings of pride, fear and messy politics.

Pain, collateral damage, and now perhaps eternal isolation the outcome.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Beattock Books
• Release date: Aug 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223190509

Rob Clarke

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Book preview

Cover image of the Small Magellanic Cloud by Bogdan Jarzna

THE GIRL FROM A SMALL CLOUD

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Rob Clarke

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Beattock Books

Copyright Rob Clarke 2023

This book is sold with the understanding that the author is not offering specific personal advice to the reader. Although the author has tried to make the information as accurate as possible, he accepts no responsibility for any loss or risk, personal or otherwise, that happens as a consequence of the use and application of any of the contents of this book.

All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced in whole or part, stored, posted on the internet, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or other, except brief extracts for the purpose of review, without the written permission from the author of this book.

The work is entirely fictional.

With the exception of historical references to people and places all characters in the book are fictional and any potential impact on individuals or organisations is unintended.

To my sons. May you wake each morning in awe of what you can see, and your imagination straining at what you cannot..

An odd light in the sky

There was no grass, what the kangaroos left, the rabbits had finished off. At least there was no wind or dust which would have swirled around and through the house, leaving a brown covering over everything should there have been the slightest crack in a window or door.

Though raised in a country town, all his adult life had been in the earshot of cars, trucks, trains and the whole dull drone of city life.

Life, they called it life, or living in the city. Thinking about how it was then and now, as a twig cracked under his foot, the only sound as he walked through the trees to check on the pumps.

It had been ten years since he had left town for the bush. As a writer, he had always felt much of what happened in his daily life was nothing but a distraction, like trying to look at the world with the blinds pulled down. Out here there were no blinds, out here he had the stars, the quiet peace, the rabbits. Oh yes, and in summer, the scorching heat and dust.

He struggled with the heat; the heat brought the flies; the heat caused the sweat to run down his wrinkled face at the slightest exertion, and if outside, the flies would enter anywhere and everywhere.

Still, it was only hot for a few months of the year, but it was stinking hot.

He had learned to live simply in the bush, even learning to eat rabbit. Water was the problem. You had to have water. Not long after setting up the house he had bores installed, you couldn’t live here waiting for the

rain. Little solar pumps drew the water from deep underground up to the tanks up on the hill behind the house.

The clear blue sky that refused to rain at least meant the solar panels supplied all the electricity he needed.

His publisher sought where he could to exploit his isolation. As if it were fashionable for a writer to be a recluse, living alone in the Australian bush.

The walk to the bore pumps was a daily ritual. Not that much ever went wrong. Deep in their steel casing, the pumps turned on and off when the sun provide enough power, mostly every day.

Looking for a leak in the pipework was the issue. The water, or lack of, affected everything.

He checked the pump controller to see how much was raised yesterday, a hangover from his previous employments. He was obsessed with data; wind, sun, rain, water, hours run and tank levels; it was all collected, collated, graphed, and trended.

Quietly he walked the track from the pumps up the hill to the two massive tanks, each a hundred thousand litres capacity, tucked into the top behind the house, he would look for a telltale sign of green, showing a leak in the underground pipework.

Water on the property was not just for drinking and washing, it meant electricity when the panels went quiet every night. Then the small hydro generator would start. Water flowed from the tanks on top of the hill, through the turbine and into a holding tank just to the right of the house. Tomorrow, when the sun rose, the sun-driven pumps would take the water back up the hill, ready for the next night. With solar, hydro, and battery supplies, he had all the comforts of modern life on hand.

Often he would smile, recalling his publisher’s description of him as being not that far removed from a cross between a monk and a cave dweller. It could not have been much further removed from the truth. The separation from social interaction maybe, but not the lifestyle. The house

was superbly insulated, air-conditioned, plumbed, fitted with double- glazed windows and doors to let the light in but keep the heat out, or in, depending on the season.

The house was a modified Quaker barn with enclosed side areas, a mezzanine housed his bedroom and study. The lower section held spare bedrooms, though rarely used, except by one or more of his sons, their wives and his grandchildren.

Stars were his companion most nights. The telescope, permanently fixed, waited patiently for his nocturnal visits at every astronomical twilight.

While not a hard-core astronomer, the lure of the created order filled him with wonder. Nebula were his favourite destinations. Their rich colours, displayed through filters, he turned into wonderful images that framed his study walls, a source of constant delight.

It was a clear cloudless pitch black night. Turning off the house lights and switching on the red night light, he made his way out of the house to the telescope. There was no rush. The stars were not going anywhere soon. He looked quietly across the heavens. Orion was rising in the East. He loved the vastness of its nebula, the colours, the horse head. It was a prized destination. But not tonight. Tonight it was to be the Coal-sack nebula in Crux that was on the agenda, that dark forbidding cloud of dust hiding the stars that lived behind its black form.

The calmness of his deliberate preparations was a part of the nightly routine. There was no rush, no disruptions, no other commitments to distract him.

The flash of light seemed to light the entire sky. He stared up. There, flashing across the heavens, a light, a dazzling light. Too fast for a satellite or the space station, yet unlike a meteor, the light was constant. And then it disappeared, not far overhead.

Darkness returned, but not his composure. He left the night’s plan and

sat on the chair beside the telescope, scanned the path of the light and pondered its origin.

The light had been constant, so the speed was probably reducing as it entered the atmosphere. But what kind of light just stopped? He wondered, did the object just burn out?

Unsettled, he abandoned the night’s activities and walked back to the house. Had anyone else seen the light? He wondered, and walked straight to the computer, logging onto the astronomical website forum.

There was nothing posted. Perhaps it was all too soon. He walked into the kitchen to make a cup of tea; he thought the delay would allow others to log in to discuss the sighting.

The arrival

As he flicked off the kitchen light, the house was flooded with light from outside. Motion detecting switches had turned on bright LED floodlights to warn him of approaching animals. He had turned the sensitivity down so that only the largest of the bush creatures would activate the system.

Probably a wallaby, he thought as he peered through the curtain-less window. There, to his amazement, stood a girl, startled, like a deer in the headlights of a car. She stood motionless.

She looked around, as if wondering what to do next.

She was tall, perhaps one point six metres, he thought. Slender and dressed in what he thought was a tracksuit. It was too hard to make out the colour of her hair in the harsh light.

She looked lost and bewildered. Unsure even where she was and not just wondering what to do.

He realised she was alone. There was no seeking a response or advice from anyone in the vicinity. She just stood still, as if waiting for him to respond to her presence.

Being careful not to startle his visitor, he opened the front door. Who are you? he called out. What do you want? More questions raced through his mind, but they would have to wait.

She turned to look at him, not moving from the spot; there was no answer to his question.

Though she seemed unafraid, he eased his way to where she stood. As he approached, her features became clear. Short black hair, almost white skin, and clear blue eyes. The track-suit now revealed to be some kind of jump-suit, her shoes clean, no sign of having walked through the bush.

About a metre apart, he stopped and looked. She did the same.

Concern now came into his mind. Are you all right? He asked as softly as he did not want to startle her.

I think so, came the reply. Frantically, he tried to work out the accent. It was not Australian, perhaps German, but he was not sure.

How did you get here? he posed another question?

She looked around, trying to take in her surroundings, but said nothing.

She shivered in the crisp night air. Standing out here would not do any good, he thought. She had to come indoors. Why don’t you come inside with me where it is warm? He asked, but refrained from touching the girl. He turned towards the house, then looked back to see if she was following. Hesitant, she seemed not to fully understand what he had said or meant.

He waved with his hands, beckoning her to follow him.

Her gaze went from his hands to his feet as if analysing what he was doing. She looked at her own feet and made the connection. With an unsteady gait, almost a shuffle, her feet moved her over the dusty ground as she followed him towards the open door.

His mind racing. What was he going to do or say once she was in the house? Her lack of meaningful communication with him foretold a long, fruitless, if stressful, night.

Unsure how to proceed, he led the girl into the kitchen. The warmth of the Rayburn stove radiated through the room. Her eyes seemed to be everywhere, trying to absorb the surroundings. Watching her closely, he realised she had no idea, no idea at all.

Where the hell was she from? his mind raced. Trying to put a lid on

his imagination, trying not to link her arrival to the light in the sky just moments before she had stood outside his door.

Sit down, please. He told her, then performed the action as an example for her to comprehend.

Her small white hands grasped the top of the chair and pulled, sending it sprawling across the floor to the other side of the room.

Right. He murmured to himself as he went to pick up the overturned chair. Slowly, he placed it where she could manoeuvre herself and sit at the table. Again, he showed the action.

A glimmer of recognition showed on her face. Mimicking his actions, she slowly bent her legs and sat on the chair. A small satisfied smile broke out on her face.

Progress, he thought, but with whom?

Across the small table, they looked at each other, her hands flat on the table, trying to sense the composition of the material, as if relaying the data back to some remote database for confirmation.

Dinner, a map and a surprise

Are you hungry or thirsty? he asked, hoping for some level of communication with her.

His fixed stare answered his question. Pushing back the chair, he went to the sink and filled a glass with water, then to the cupboard to find some crackers. Her eyes tracked his every move. Returning to the table, he sat and looked at her again.

Eat? he showed and took a small bite from one of the crackers. Drink? he continued. He took the glass and sipped the water.

He placed the second cracker where she could reach it and pushed the glass closer to her hands.

As if being polite, her small hand moved to the cracker, its crisp texture seemed to please her as she took it closer to her mouth. Instead of a bite, she stuck out her tongue and licked the surface. The salty taste caused a sharp reaction. She dropped the cracker and screwed her face in apparent disgust. Her eyes gleamed at him as if he had tried to harm her.

Still, as if eager to please him, she took the glass, raised it to her lips and sipped. He tried not to stare at the girl as she thought about the liquid. She took another sip, then another, as if refusing to put the glass back on the table. She smiled at him.

Hard to move. She said, using one arm to lift the other to explain her statement.

His mind was in overdrive. He remembered her shuffling progress into

the house and now her admission of difficulty in moving.

Gravity, he thought, then shook his head with the absurdity of the notion. He could shake his head all he could, but the thoughts would not stop. He had to try something and rose from the table.

The girl tried to stand, but he held out his hand for her to remain seated. I will be back shortly, please wait here, and walked to the study. Returning in a minute with a large folded document, he spread it out on the table in front of her.

It was a star atlas, showing most if not all the Local Group of galaxies and stars.

He sat down and watched, waiting for some reaction to either confirm or dispel his suspicions.

Where are you from? He asked, aware the witness was being led.

Her face wrinkled in uncertainty, then rotating the paper ninety degrees, she smiled. Now it all seemed to make sense.

She pushed the paper towards him and pointed.

Holy cow, holy cow! he whispered in amazement. Tracing down from her eyes, down her smiling face, down her long slender arm, down the soft white fingers to where they rested on the map, he followed. The SMC, the Small Magellanic Cloud, the nearest galaxy to the earth. She was an alien. He stopped and looked back into her clear blue eyes. Or am I the alien? he asked himself and smiled at her.

Why are you here? She didn’t look like she was here to take over the earth, but she had travelled over two hundred thousand light years, so some purpose was not unreasonable.

It seemed like the water fascinated her; she lifted the glass and sipped steadily. She looked at him over the rim.

Navigational error, failure of the time calculator. She replied and kept drinking.

Can you repair it? he replied.

Unsure, I will have to wait until the light. You are very primitive.

He laughed, We rather thought we were a very advanced species.

She put down the glass. Biologically similar yet destructive to the planet and your own existence.

So you know who we are? Of course.

She had already answered the unasked question, so he tried to rise above her low opinion of humankind.

Do you age like us? You seem very young to me.

Much slower, I am two hundred earth years old. We are like you prior to the flood.

Flood, what flood?

Noah. More water, please. She pushed the empty glass across the table.

His mind reeled. Noah, the Noah of the Bible, it had to be!

He refilled the glass at the sink; she watched him intently as he moved back towards her. Taking the glass from his hand, she replied. Thanks.

Why me? He asked as he returned to his chair.

She smiled. Not too many options, low risk, isolated, reasonably intelligent.

You know all that about us? his eyes were wide in amazement. She just smiled again.

He looked at her across the table. Though stuck on some backwater planet with a broken ship, she appeared calm and unfazed by her situation. A look of inner peace, almost a glow, emanated from her as she drank.

The evening had passed quickly and while sleep was the furthest thing from his mind; the events had clearly wearied his visitor.

Would you like to rest? I have rooms and beds. You will be quite safe. Yes, your gravity is quite taxing, thank you.

He led the way to the guest area of the house slowly to allow her shuffling feet to keep pace.

"You should be comfortable in here. Behind that door is a