A Conversation With A Stranger

The air is brisk and the sky is painted in broad strokes of dusky purple. It's the 417th day of the centiyear, which means that despite the chapped lips and the visibility of your breath, winter is over, and it's springtime on "B". [[Continue->2]]

The sound of your footsteps changes abruptly as you step off the ground and onto the shuttle. Your boots are worn and heavy, wet from grass and noisy against the alloys that make up the floor and every other part of this short hopper transport ship. She sits next to you. She always does. [["..."->4]] [["Hi."->4]] [["Good morning."->4]]

As planets go, B is fairly unremarkable. Reminiscent of the mother planet, but drenched in violet hues, with a proximity to its sun that makes it ideal for farming. Hence, every 1120 days, like clockwork, the Centurion Calendar swings back around to the spring harvest, which means early morning starts for you, and farmers like you. [[Continue->3]]

She gives you what you can only describe as "a look". Call it acknowledgement. Call it politeness. Call it an opening. The doors close and the walls rumble as the shuttle lifts off the ground and starts to accelerate. Those still standing lean slightly, gripping onto handholds to balance themselves, as the engines whir and whine, and the ship lurches forwards. [[Continue->4ext]]

Bolstered by the lack of obvious rejection, you look her way again. Maybe you could be friends. Maybe you could be more. [["..."->6]] [["So, what do you think? A good harvest this cear?"->6]] [["It's cold today, isn't it?"->6]]

At first she tries to avoid your gaze, perhaps out of instinct on public transport, or perhaps, indicative of her true feelings. But after a moment, she feels powerless to ignore you. [[Continue->7]]

"It's always like this, isn't it?" You're unsure what she's referring to. Perhaps the harvest, or the weather, or something else entirely. You suspect the latter. [["Yeah."->8]] [["It is."->8]] [["Not always."->8]]

She studies you, and has half a mind to leave things there. Someone coughs nearby, and the shuttle is otherwise, you realise, as quiet as space itself. But to your relief, she doesn't stop talking. [[Continue->9]]

"What are you doing after work?" [["Just going home."->10]] [["Going out. To a bar."->10]]

She seems unsatisfied with the answer, and shifts in her seat. Her gear rustles as she moves, the crinkles and folds of protective plastic squeaking against each other. She speaks again. "By yourself?" [["I want to be alone."->11]] [["I want to be with you."->11]]

Her face turns sour. Her gold-flecked eyes begin to roll in their sockets and she looks away, shaking her head. Her hair is too short to sway, but if it could, it would have. "Unbelievable..." she mutters. Your stomach knots. It does this sometimes on high speed shuttles, as they flit about from the epsilon fields to the docks and back again. But your feelings aren't the result of any motion sickness this time. The Proximan Sun continues to rise, and now casts stark beams into the carriage. You squint a little. [[Continue->12]]

She doesn't look back your way, but you still feel entangled in the conversation. A cold, brutal conversation with a stranger. [["..."->13]] [["Hey, I didn't mean.."->13]] [["I'm sorry."->13]]

"You should be sorry," she says, before you can say more. "Let's just... Y'know. Please." You examine her response, trying to analyse it in the same way that you analyse the combine machines when they've chewed too much sediment and the works are all gummed up. [[Continue->13ext]]

Where she differs from problematic harvester equipment, is that she cannot be assessed so easily. Or at least, the awareness doesn't come as easily to you, leaving you grasping for conclusions, based on data that feels incomplete. There's always something. With the sun continuing to rise, so too does the heat level. Air conditioners in the corners of the shuttle begin huffing and puffing, extruding coolness that tastes lightly acidic on the tongue. The smell reminds you of your father, and his workshop. He would know what to do in this situation, you believe. He was always sure of heart and quick of mind. Sometimes too sure, and too quick. [[Continue->14ext]]

Looking at her hurts. You try to push it aside and you can't, like the hurt itself is an inexorable moment of spacetime that can be regarded but not changed, no more so than you can take the exolocust eggs out of a baked cake, or the venom out of words that you've said in anger. The best you can ever do is try again. [[Continue->16]]

With the memories of your dad still swirling in your mind, you talk to her further. [["I think we should start over."->17]] [["I think we should stay out of each other's way."->17]]

"If you think that's what would be best," she says, coolly. "Is that really what you want?" [["Yes."->18a]] [["No."->18b]] [["I'm not sure."->18b]]

"Okay. If that's what you want." [[Continue->19]]

"Well, you better make your mind up." [[Continue->19]]

Deciding what you want used to be easier, you think to yourself. Is it still called nostalgia if it's true? You're sure that life used to be simpler. That choices between Option A and Option B used to be easy. [[Continue->20]]

Leaving the mother planet, for example, was easy. It was crowded and you were destitute. But more than that, it was appealing to choose the perfect, unspoiled fantasy of a life on Planet B, or "Plan B", as it was known in those days, when compared to the messy, complex and known reality of life on Earth. [[Continue->21]]

As is often the case with dreams of perfection, they turn out to be nothing more than dreams - like the perfect field, before it is dug and ploughed and planted, revealing all manner of issues that weren't there before. Ideas in your head are the only ever truly perfect things. Once you make them real, they cease to be perfect. [[Continue->22]]

So you came to B, and at first it seemed great. Or you fooled yourself into thinking that it was, such as it is our deep desire to be right and to be vindicated. But then the questions started. The living conditions weren't as idyllic as the pictures. The air was clean, but light on oxygen, often leaving you gasping for breath during a hard day's work. And the work was truly hard - often backbreaking labour, crouched beneath loud machinery, putting limbs in dangerous places. [[Continue->23]]

And it had been assumed, by many, that the owner of B was kind. Outwardly, and in the press, he was generous. He became unfathomably rich through smarts and hard work, so the story goes, but was also dedicated to ensuring that those who worked for him had the chance to live rich lives too. [[Continue->24]]

Given that, you thought you'd be entitled to similar rights and freedoms to the ones you enjoyed on the mother planet. But your rights on B are few and far between. He owns the police here. He owns every house, and every shop, and every field. He owns the planet. And therefore, he owns you. [[Continue->25]]

"We're nearly there," she whispers, interrupting your train of thought. Her tone has softened. Perhaps because the journey is ending, and all of us wish for peaceful endings. [[Continue->26]]

This far out, you can see the harvest has begun already. Machines lumbering from crop to crop, row to row, plucking and scraping. Beside them, farmhands and technicians scurry around like tiny exolocusts themselves, clutching tablets and toolbelts. [[Continue->27]]

At the edges of the fields that have already been culled, the indigo leaves have given way to freshly turned soil. It's lighter than the mother planet, oatmeal in colour. And beneath it, new seeds have been buried, ready for the next turning of seasons. [[Continue->28]]

Inside the machines, owned by him of course, is the relative treasure that everyone on B seeks: Fleshy edible pulp, that can be used to feed other human colonies. On those, there are other industries. Perhaps miners, or scientists. Presumably, you think, there must be one or two that cater to his people. The planet of luxury that you wished for yourself, and you wish for her. We reap only what we sow. [[Continue->29]]

The shuttle stops moving laterally, and those holding onto railings brace themselves again to stop from being tossed aside by the sudden change in force. You begin to descend slowly towards the ground, just a few hundred yards from a warehouse where some of the machines are kept. She stands up, and you know that the conversation only has moments left to live. [["I really am sorry."->30]] [["This is all my fault."->30]]

"We can talk about it later," she responds. You realise that her mind is now set to work, that she is about to disembark, as you are, and must be focused on the task at hand in order to get through the shift. [["Later as in, on the shuttle home?"->31]] [["I'd like that."->31]] [["Okay, thank you."->31]]

She nods. It's not much, but it's something. Stood face to face, you are reminded of just how beautiful she can be, even weathered by this life. Whether it has to be just as friends, or more, you want this to work. [["You look incredible today."->32a]] [["I'd really like it if we could be friends."->32b]]

"Thanks", she mumbles, as if brushing off an awkward compliment from someone she barely knows. Then, she follows it up with a more sincere "Thank you." [[Continue->33]]

"We can be," she mumbles. Then, after a moment's pause, she adds "But that's it I guess. Just friends." [[Continue->33]]

The sun is still rising quickly, and the last few stubborn wisps of cloud are dissipating on the horizon. The shuttle doors hiss as they slide apart, and you take in a deep breath of air, smelling the fertilizer, the alien flora and her. She steps towards the doors, and you know that you only have seconds left before this conversation ends. It's not yet completely clear how well the next one will be received. [["This is where we get off."->34]] [["Time to work."->34]] [["Have a good day."->34]]

Others around you begin to shuffle off the transport ship, striding purposefully towards their designated zones and responsibilities. She takes one step off, and turns back to you. She speaks... "You know. Sometimes, talking to you, it's like talking to a stranger." [["..."->35]] [["I don't know what to say."->35]]

"You never know what to say. And that's okay, I just... I thought we were a team. And since you moved out I feel like I don't even know you. Weren't we in this together?" [["We were."->36]] [["We are."->36]] [["We can be."->36]]

"And I know it's not turned out to be the life you wanted but... I thought you still wanted me. Wanted us." [["I do."->37]] [["I can't."->37]] [["I've got a lot on my mind."->37]]

"So what is it? Because you can't expect me to sit next to you on the shuttle day after day, night after night, and to have you act like you barely know me," she asserts. "Do you still love me?" [["Yes."->38]] [["No"->No 1]]

"Good, because I still love you. And I wanted to talk about it later, but I can't wait another damned second. I want you to be with me. Like we were on the mother planet. Like we were before B." [["That's what I want too."->39]] [["I can't."->No 1]]

"You asshole. You're really doing this, here, fresh off the shuttle? You want us to break up? Fine. We're broken up. Don't talk to me again, you understand? Next time to see me, I'm nobody to you. Just two people on their way to home, or on their way to work. Have a nice life." [[Continue->No 2]]

She turns away, with tears gathering in her eyes. She stomps as she walks away, and when she gets far enough from you she allows herself to wipe her face with her arm. She never looks back, and after a while she's obscured by the hot dust that forms a haze in the middle distance. You find yourself wishing, although wishes are for children. You wish that you'd never brought her to this wretched planet. [[Continue->Epilogue]]

The sirens begin to wail in the distance. A brief, harsh song that signals your day has truly begun. Just another day of the harvest, you tell yourself. Just another day of reaping, exactly what it is that we've sown.

"Then what are we fighting for? You know me better than anyone else on this planet. If you feel the same about me, then why are you pushing me away?" [["I feel guilty for bringing you here."->40]] [["I can't talk about this any more."->No 1]]

"We chose this life together. I chose you. And I don't care that this isn't paradise. I just want you in my corner." [["I'm really sorry for what I said the other day. I shouldn't have said it. And it's not an excuse, but I've been finding it really difficult to adjust to living here. I thought it would get easier, but every spring it gets harder. I can't fix everything in an instant but please believe that I am trying, and I will continue to try."->41]] [["I think we should break up."->No 1]]

Some tears pool in her eyes, and she wipes them quickly on her sleeve. There's no time to explore these raw, heavy emotions or the way that they feel in your gut. At any moment the work will begin. [[Continue->42]]

"We'll keep trying, okay?" she says, quietly. Her voice wavers, and you know that her feelings are as thick and painful to carry as your own. "If we just keep trying, we'll figure this out." You nod, and some small amount of the weight is lifted. But the rest remains. You have to say one last thing. [["I promise."->43a]] [["I love you."->43b]]

"Me too." [[Continue->44]]

"I love you too." [[Continue->44]]

She pulls you into a brief hug, and although there's restraint in it, it still feels tight, and warm through the protective layers of your outfits. You wish you'd never brought her to this planet. You wish a lot of things were different. But at least you have this, a glimmer of hope. One thing in your life that's truly worth nurturing, unlike these wretched crops. You tell yourself that from now on, you'll nurture your relationship with her every day. [[Continue->Epilogue]]

(size:2.5)[(font:"Major Mono Display")[(text-rotate-z:359)[A Conversation With A Stranger]]] [[Start->1]]

Local plantlife flourishes on "B", but equipment does not. If it's not the rocky terrain, it's the circuits getting fried by the UV levels. If it's not the wiring, it's the exolocusts that get attracted to the heat of the engine, and get all up in the ceramic parts where it's hard to clean. There's always something. That's why work like this requires so many people. You can terraform the place, engineer the crops and plan out the fields from an office, using drones. But to keep things going, you've got to turn up and put the hours in. You need to keep an eye on things, constantly invest in keeping things running smoothly. And you need to intervene when something goes wrong. [[Continue->14]]

Through the viewports, endless fields of amaranthine heliotropes - purple plants - begin to rush by. Before summer begins to flourish, all these winter crops will be pulled up by the root, and replaced with softer, less hardy varieties. Those that crave more ultraviolet light than they can get at other times of the centiyear, or cear, for short. [[Continue->5]]

Beneath your jumpsuit, you begin to sweat. Little beads of it pooling in all the nooks and crannies. You look at her and see that she is too, creating a light sheen on the olive skin of her face and hands. Her hands are like yours, the palms and tips roughened by hours spent toiling in the dirt. Life on B hadn't been easy. Certainly not what was promised. [[Continue->15]]