Catch Ride Castaway fragment

“We regret to inform you the request for additional funding has been disapproved.”

Whatever other information the automated voice had to give was drowned out by the sudden squeal of frustration and agony that rang out across the desolate, empty outpost. Echoing between rows of silent, sand-pitted solar collectors and passing low scattered shrubs, the baleful peal carried out far and wide. It passed over the surrounding sea of bone-white sand, parched dry by a noon-high, pale-cool star.

That heedless star was the only thing in that cloudless sky, a dusty-blue expanse that domed over an equally featureless land below.

In all directions beyond the small isolated station and it's yards of solar farms spread miles upon miles of nothing, empty swaths of sand for as far as the eye could see, only interrupted by the occasional clump of wispy grass or copse of scrawny, leafless red trees. Over this barren waste the miserable voice carried, only to eventually peter out and get lost in a pitiful whisper.

“If you wish to challenge this decision,” the synthetic voice continued as blissfully heedless as the star above, “please fill out and submit form number--”

Dual fists slamming down upon the sand-frosted console must have knocked loose its internal speakers, as the machine's sound abruptly quit beneath the application of force.

The bedraggled young woman who's fists they belonged to next used those shaking hands to pull on her bleached, unruly blonde hair and began to emit strangled, pained noises from her mouth. Those furious fingers with nails that had once been immaculately manicured scratched through her rats-nest hair, hair that at one point been fastidiously brushed, conditioned, and smooth.

At one point in the past, most things about this young woman had once been the idealistic pride and pinnacle of lush youth. Her skin had been meticulously moisturized to a healthy, rosy glow-- now it was aggressively baked to a patchy amber, cracked and flaky. Her frayed, tight-fitting cargo shorts and yellow-stained baby tee had once been pristine, starched and designer-approved. The torn and ragged cloth wrapped around the top of her head had once been an unblemished lab coat, having been in one piece, unsoiled by labor and merely ceremonial.

All of this, from the top of her ramshackle turban to the soles of her slipshod shoes, had once ben preened and pampered perfection. A creature of comfort, woefully unprepared for the scenario she had been unceremoniously, silently, and slyly delivered to.

Those once manicured nails that were now worn-down nubs ground into her scalp, and served to froth her frenzy. Looking back up with renewed vigor, she glared around with crystal blue eyes bloodshot from windblown silica. Various equipment was scattered around the courtyard that she'd been holed up in for the last three months, hard cases of lab equipment and a few poles of measuring gear were in her immediate reach. Grabbing a pole used for delicate distance data taking, she whipped back to the console.

With a blood-curtling shriek, she brought the pole down hard onto the dulled LED-display, shattering the screen with a crunch and sparking sputter. Lifting the rod again, she brought it down over and over, denting the console into a battered wreck before the pole finally splintered violently in her hands. Throwing the fragment with a grunt at the ruined screen, which rebounded and barely missed her head, she spun back to the rest of her equipment. Beginning with the closest pieces, she began to chuck them around her in random directions, dashing their contents against the surrounding walls of the station. In this she lost herself in the frenzy, all the while babbling incoherently through gritted teeth.

Around the carnage, the cool star shone on, and the quiet empty station went on standing.

Her theater was this silent automated outpost, her stage the dusty courtyard, and her theme was the lonesome wind that whispered through the desolate structure. There were no other travelers around to serve as an audience for her theatrics, no attendants at work, everything running on machine and algorithm. As evidenced by the tall drifts of sand that had accumulated within locked door alcoves, no other soul had been here for a long time.

The sounds of smashing echoed around the single-story outpost, until the last cracking bounced around and drifted away in the wind. Finally, the girl was left standing in a wheel of wrecked equipment, huffing and puffing away the tail end of her rage. With hands still clawed in the grip of emotion, she angrily batted away wisps of hair that had fallen in her face. That simple act of annoyance seemed to snap her out of her apoplexy, and she let her arms fall limply to her side. With chest still heaving from exertion, she slowly straightened. Her head swiveled on her sunburned neck to look about the courtyard in a new light of defeat.

What had been the equipment left for her was now scattered everywhere. Cases that had been her supples were now mostly empty. With sudden bitterness, she remembered earlier nights of excess and uncontrolled waste with her provisions as her empty stomach now protested her recent exertions. Eyes moving over the pitiful excuse of a cobbled shelter, she recalled how cocksure she had been the day of her arrival that someone would meet her here to sweep her away to luxury. In a swoon of despair, she wobbled, then let herself fall backwards. Unceremoniously plopping down onto her rump in the sand, she hugged her knees and began to mewl.

“No, you can't do this to me,” she wailed miserably from between cracked lips that had once relished in strawberry chapstick. “Not me, not like this. They can't do this...”

They. Those at the other end of that console, the other end of that transmission she'd sent. How long had it been again? Behind a response-transmission that had only come in today. A response-transmission that contained a message that might as well have been a death sentence.

'We regret to inform you...'

Her own regret and despair welled inside her, and her scrunched face fell forward to bump into her knees as she began to cry.

Around her, the soft murmuring wind that passed through the station melded with her weeping to form a mournful, fluting harmony. In this way she sat, consoling herself with tears, deflection, and the lullaby of the desert breeze, as the star made its way across the endless sky.

It wasn't long, however, before new sounds came into the empty, whispering station: the windchime clink of thin metal and the gentle grunt of some large animal. At first, still sitting in the sand with her head against her knees and wracked with sobs, the young woman abruptly jerked her head up in a look of pointed distaste, despite the soggy eyes.

Around the bend of the structure ambled into view a pack of what at first seemed like a mobile, slow-moving rock slide. Spherical, bubbly looking things jostled and bumbled into the courtyard at the pace of an old man with a cane. They were not rocks at all, in fact they would be offended to be called so. To the unfamiliar, the creatures were a kind of three-foot tall blend between Earth pill bugs and rock lobsters, with smooth, iridescent lapis lazuli shells, an array of bristling anntenae, and inquistive eye stalks. Perhaps oddest of all were their humble qualities of civilization: some of them hobbled with short staffs and others carried curious little pouches. Despite their crustacean-like nature, they stood upright and brought with them a plethora of tackle and accoutrements. There were five of them, but behind lumbered a massive creature, comparable to them in appearance but approaching the size of an old Earth sedan. The clatter of metal came from all the eclectic bits and bobs tied with hempen rope about its carapace, like a thrifty bazaar on a great scuttling beast.

To any other human fresh out of the Sol system, this sight may have been awe-inspiring, perhaps even unsettling. For the young woman, however, it was nothing of the sort. Upon seeing the arrival of the chitinous cadre, she had the opposite reaction: all sign of woe or despair evaporated as she aggressively jumped to her feet. Though her heavily-freckled cheeks remained tear-stained with sodden trails down the thick coat of dust on her face, her eyes opened wide in anger and her mouth curled in a grimace.

“No!” She yelled as she pointed at them. “I keep telling you, no! Get away from me!”

Despite her seemingly sudden and unprovoked attempt at intimidation, the creatures perked up when they saw her, then immediately hurried towards her in their waddling gait.

“Goddamn it I said no, NO!” She stamped her feet ineffectually in the sand and waved her arms in a shooing motion. “For the thousandth time I don't want to buy your trash. Scram!”

They either did not hear her, did not understand, nor care, as the spherical desert lobsters crowded around her and jabbered on in a curious burbling. Collectively they shoved various things up at her in their little claws, things that appeared to be small bundles of cloth, clay earthenware, and fist-sized jugs. If the girl was disturbed by their appearance or thrifty assault, she didn't show it. Rather, she had the air of a long-time suffering: all that exuded from her was wrath and annoyance.

“Stop it, damn it!” She batted their proffered items away, which they simply reoffered up to her on the rebound. “I don't want your dirty old stuff! I want OUT of this hell hole, don't you understand?! Shit! Go away, stop!”

Like a pestered adventure seeker breaking from a swarm of biting flies, she finally broke and tried to run away from them around the courtyard, but the hopalongs followed her in a bumbling ragtag jumble of antennae and glinting shells. As she bellowed in frustration and the critters burbled in pursuit, lost in their noise was a distant rumble of thunder from far away. It was a sudden but singular rumble, odd as it was in that cloudless, dusty-blue sky. Without the slightest hint of rain, the sound rolled on, scattering to the far barren horizon.

Far above, a dark point appeared in the blue, and began to enlarge. Soon, the point grew into an indistinct shape, then an angular form. A few miles out from the station, the form coalesced into an approaching starship. It was a crude looking vessel, a long boxy hexagon, of patchwork quality and glaring replacements. As it drew closer, the thrumming of its repulsor drive knocked unevenly and one of the emitter vanes that protruded out its bottom stuttered in blue light. By the time it nosed up over the outpost, hovered briefly and began its descent, the girl had finally ran from the structure into the bare desert. Behind her not too far behind was the hallabalooing crustaceans waving their wares.

“Just leave me alone!” The girl was crying exasperatedly at the top of her lungs, the ad-hoc turban whipping off her head in a seemingly out-of-nowhere wind squall. “For the love of God I WANT, TO, BE, LEFT, ALONE.” She had been yelling before the strong gust pummeled her with sand, the especially gritty gust slapping into her face and sending her into coughing fits.

“Actphthph--” she sputtered and held her arms in front of her face, her hair and clothes roiling about her, before she finally tripped and stumbled face-first into the dunes. “Fuck! Where did all this wind come from--” she had tried to holler as she lifed her head up, but froze in shock.

Not quite 25 yards ahead of her, the starship was slowly settling down onto the desert wastes, great gusts of sand blowing away from its emitter vanes. Before her eyes, the whirlwind cleared away material from the ground, exposing supports and grindwork embedded there, and metal cylinders and machinery rose to connect into the ship through jets of vapor. As the whine of the repulsor drive wound down and the weight of the ship pressed down on its landing gear into the sand, it finally settled into a quiet peace. Her prolonged isolation from the galaxy outside made the average freighter of 75 yards in length seem larger than it really was.

Still lying prone in the drift, gawking slack-jawed at the ship, the girl completely forgot about her pursuers until four crabby faces with quivering mandibles appeared to shove things under her nose.

“Stop it! Get-- cut it out!” She swiped at their things ineffectually. “Fucking shit! Beat it!”

Preoccupied with the pestering pill-crabs again, it took her a moment to notice when further vents hissed in the lower hull of the vessel and a ramp lowered out the side. No sooner had the bottom of the ramp pressed into the dust did she leap up, bowling over the spherical critters and running over to her perceived salvation.

“Oh thank GOD,” the sound of her relief was palpable, “Hey, hey! Can you get me out of this shithole--”

Before she could finish her sentence, her voice cut as her eyes widened and she skidded to a halt in the sand. Down the ramp came unshod feet with four digits each, connected to short, stout legs. Attached to these, in a set of rough brown leather knee-length trousers and vest, was a broad torso supporting two pairs of arms: a child-small mid pair and a more 'traditional' upper pair, heavily muscled and long. Multiple limbs was a place to start, perhaps, but the most startling of all was what awaited her sight set on top of wide shoulders: a square jaw, wide and stuck proud like an antique Earth steam shovel. Peering out over blunt, stone-like tusks were deep set yellow eyes, underneath equally rocky brows. As it reached the bottom of the ramp, in a simian-like gait that saw it favor its upper arms occasionally for balance, it revealed a row of quills descending down its back. Where familiarity would assume hair should be, it appeared these quills took their place, with a crown of them atop the head and racing along the spine. As if to accentuate the stony tusks about its jaw, all of this was punctuated by an earthy, slate-grey skin color.

The strange stranger paused when their bare feet first padded into the sand, and they returned the girl's stare. Those deep yellow eyes revealed sharp black pupils, and they blinked disinterestedly.

Perhaps meeting another person of such a different world would spur some people to be stunned, shocked, impressed, or at a lack of words. Perhaps most would, but this young woman was not.

“Damn!” She pointed as she shouted, “you're fuckin' ugly!”

An awkward silence fell on the scene, even the crabfolk pausing to glance between the two taller beings. The askance bob of their eyestalks suggested they could pick up on the faux pas. Yet, the tension passed easy as the breeze when the stranger simply blinked again, snorted gruffly through wide nostrils, then proceeded without comment towards the station.

The human was less observant. “Hey, I'm Agatha. Agatha Carol,” she said matter-of-factly, placing a proud hand on her chest despite the yellow-stained fabric. “You've probably heard of me, or at least my family. Senator Aitor Carol? Yeah. That guy. Give me a lift and I'll--”

Without any sign to register they heard (or cared), the alien walked on past her.

The four crabfolk beside her watched on, glanced up in unison at the girl one more time, then waddled on and began babbling their excited greetings at the newcomer instead.

Left standing dumb, watching the crabfolk leave, she realized she was alone and quite disregarded. “Hey, wait a minute! Wait!” She yelled and ran to catch up.

The odd little band was found again in the courtyard, where the quilled alien was closely followed by the little ones, who crowded about their waist and offered up their trinkets. These the newcomer freely accepted from them, exchanging with them items from their own vest and trouser pockets. Eagerly taking them in their little claws, the crabfolk chittered estatically.

Around them, where the fifth shelled alien dozed with the beast of burden, the girl's ruined campsite was plain for all to see. As she ran into the enclosed space in pursuit0, the one self-proclaimed as Agatha saw the newcomer pause in the midst of their gift exchange to look over the wanton destruction. It paused to turn one judgemental yellow eye at her over a grey shoulder, then turned back in an attempt to wade through the crustacean-tide.

“What?” She caught the look. “What was that for?” Her tone was prickly but quickly changed to a saccharine one. “I mean-- hi there! So nice to meet you, what's your name?”

Waist deep in bubbling crabs bumping at their elbows, the newcomer opened a panel on the station wall, throwing some breakers and pressing some switches they found inside. After a whirr and humming began from unseen machinery through the structure and beneath them, the stranger turned around to regard the girl and began to growl strange, alien sounds.

The girl jumped when she heard them, rough and gutteral as they were. They sounded like the sharp rush of loose stones down a hillside or the crunch of gravel under a boot. After a spike of alarm and discomfort, Agatha figured the thing was trying to converse.

“What? I don't know what you're saying. Can't you speak English?” She demanded with fists on her hips.

The newcomer paused mid-sentence, steam-shovel jaw almost seeming to drop in disbelief, before they recovered and settled into weary patience. They regarded the human silently for a moment or two, before lifting their jutting chin up and to the left in order to expose their neck. There, they pointed to a spot that seemed glaringly out of place upon their grey skin: a thin silvery disk like a lone fish scale.

Agatha blinked dumbly. “I don't get it. Does this mean you don't know how?”

Further gravelly barking made her jump again as the alien threw annoyed words and gestures in her direction. It used their left-side hands to indicate the wreckage strewn about her, and with a right hand withdrew an item from a vest pocket. It looked like a small crystal case, and it held it up for her to see.

She recognized it now: Among her kind it was known to contain something called 'Babbledots,' or what was the silver chip the alien displayed on its neck. Wonderous technology that allowed all beings to understand each other, regardless of species or upbringing. Out here in the galaxy, it was required accessory. The corporation supplied her one before she was dumped out here, as was all humans that traveled beyond the Sol System. Hers was here, somewhere, scattered with the rest of her kit.

“Yeah, right. Look, can't you just talk for me instead?”

The stranger gave her a last scathing look with sharp yellow eyes down its rostrum before turning back to the crabfolk. They spoke some more to them in their gravelly way, then began to leave the station.

Agatha had maintained her hands-on-hips pose until she realized the group was leaving. “Okay okay! I get it! I'll try to find it!” She hastily declared before running to rummage through the scattered stuff, eventually pulling her case out of a ripped duffle bag. Applying the curious, self-adhering scale to her neck, she tried her luck again. “Okay, there, happy now? Can you give me a lift?”

Patiently, the stranger had stopped to wait. Once the Babbledot was on the girl's neck and she asked her next question, they tilted their jaw in a maliciously lopsided bearing of teeth, then spoke perfect English.

“Nope. I might be 'ugly,' but I'll be sitting pretty and comfortable in my ship while I leave your mangy-ass behind.”

The transition had been instantaneous. No longer was the voice a slip down a rocky slope or a crunch of stone underfoot. It had become, to her ears, a gravelly but perfectly understandable masculine intellect, as if spoken by a typical denizen of Earth.

Experiencing the seemingly miraculous and incomprehensibly seamless transition of the Babbledot's translation for the first time had historically sent a wide array of reactions throughout the galactic populace. Some are struck with rapturous awe, ferverent zealotry, or maniacal glee. Others with fear, denial, or irrational reprisal. For this one human girl, she placed more importance on the content and meaning of the words.

Staring dumbfounded for only a moment, it quickly passed and her face flushed and bent in insult. "H-how DARE you!" She sputtered. "You... you-- thing. Don't you know who I am? Who my father is? I can have you absoluely ruined!"

The newcomer proved they could smirk despite the cumbersome-looking jaw. He looked her up and down derisively then snorted in contempt. “I doubt that. Going by this disaster of a camp and your... dishevel," he waved a dismissive grey hand at her, "clearly the ruined one is you."

With that, he once again turned and left the station.

Agatha's own jaw dropped open and her eyes bulged. She began attempting to make words but all that came out was a jumble of "wh-, how-, wha-, whe-, I'll-."

Between them, the crabfolk had watched in silence. As the stranger left, they quietly turned to regard the human one last time before gathering up their pack beast and hurried to catch up to the departing alien.

Once again the lonely silence returned and the wind could be heard in the courtyard, whistling around the eaves and empty doorways. After a few abortive attempts, Agatha found her voice. "Hey. Hey!" She finally managed to spit out. "I'm not finished with you! Where do you think you are going? Get back here!"

No one heeded her. It dawned on her then that the state had returned to the beginning, that she was alone inside the desolate, windblown courtyard. Just as she wanted it, so soon before. Now, however, within a maelstom of fury she had turned that isolation into a grim reminder. The wreckage that had been her camp was strewn about, having an appearance of finality and utter end. Empty crates, exhausted supply, parched existence, and shattered hope.

A trickle of sweat ran rown her dusty forehead and stung into her eye.

"Wait!" She nearly shrieked. "Wait, don't leave me here!"

In near broken panic and terror, suddenly and irrationally as if her immediate life depended on it, she ran after the aliens. Following them out into the bright mid-day starlight, half bedazzled and with a sob on her lips, she jerked her head around frantically. The party she had been looking for was only a few yards away, who were currently walking in the opposite direction of the starship into the bare, empty desert.

Agatha was dazzled, dehydrated, and dazed. "Wait!" She cried again hoarsely, before stumbling after them. When she had caught up she nearly pleaded. "You can't leave me. Please don't leave me alone again, please!"

"I'm not doing anything for you," the quilled alien said over his shoulder as he continued trudging over the sand.

Tripping and falling to her knees in the white dunes, the girl's eyes went wide and gaunt as she stared at his back. "Wh-what will I do? I have nothing left. They barely gave me anything, and now it's all gone. You can't do this to me, I'll--" Her throat caught as she tried to swallow with a dry throat. "I'll die."

"You can do whatever you want," he called back. "You can return to your sty or go where I'm going, I don't care."

There she knelt on all fours for a moment, dumbstruck, before she put two-and-two together and immediately seized onto the hope like a drowning man. Scrambling to her feet, her face twisted in relief.