It had seemed like a good idea to pass one last night on the ship, since it allowed Fortis to file an initial report into the non-destructible memory module. He also ran several simulations before he noticed his circadian rhythm was far out of sync with his host. Barely ready to sleep yet, it was just a few hours before George planned to start taking the tent down. Fortis calculated this would be two hours before the feeble dawn at Misty’s south pole. There was nothing like a hard day’s ride on little sleep to make for a good natural nudge to the space lag.
Fortis stood rubbing his sleep deprived eyes, disappointed to find George already had the tent nearly folded. The fabric was far thinner than it had first appeared, and folded quite small. Fortis guessed the wagon he now saw receiving the various folded and packed up items had been the bed he thought he saw in the tent yesterday, perhaps with the wheels removed. Not only was it still quite dark, but George moved with too much skilled practice, and Fortis hardly kept track of the packing. By the time he drew close enough to offer help, none was needed. Before him was a small, light wagon on two wheels, and a harness rig attached to the end tilted into the air.
George strode quickly off toward one of the grassy humps of land barely perceptible on the horizon. Now as fully awake as he would be at any point during that day, Fortis realized it never really got all that dark, but it took some time for him to notice. The clouds of Misty kept the temperature even, with a similar effect on the light level. It had never gotten all that bright, nor really too very dark. Remembering George’s comment about lacking direct sunlight, he realized the entire population probably saw almost as much at night as in day.
Fortis occupied himself poking about the wagon, not moving anything, but noticing how it was primitive in concept, yetwith very highly advanced construction. The frame was that hard, light wood he found on his chair the day before. The wheels were similar, but very elegant, with some sort of tire which gave under hard pressure from his thumb. It felt like fabric and skin at the same time. The profile was wide and oval, like modern ground vehicles on many planets, but not designed for any sort of artificial pavement. These wheels had seen plenty of rough ground. Fortis wondered if the packed rocky shale under his feet was some of the better travel surface on Misty.
His reverie was broken by the sound of approaching heavy tread. No, it was not so much sound as palpable through his feet. The sound came shortly after, of heavy animals with large padded hooves.
George’s voice was breathy from mild effort, approaching quickly. “Looks like we lost none of them to predators. That’s a blessing.”
Fortis noticed the bow and arrows were slung across George’s back, as his host turned around to stop the large beasts. On the opposite shoulder he saw a short sword. He wondered what a sword would be made of on a planet where hard metals were rare. George led the largest beast around the wagon, then sidled it over in front of the wagon. It was a quick draw which brought the hitching down on the animal’s back, and a few swift motions to cinch a strap under what Fortis took to be the belly. Then George stepped back to the rear of the wagon, and turned some crank handle Fortis had not seen before. The axle shifted so that just a little bit of weight rested on the animal’s harness. One last check of the straps on the load, then George turned to Fortis.
“Have you ever ridden an animal, before?” Fortis had only once, as a special treat of some powerful figure on one planet he visited.
George explained, “These are the largest creatures on Misty. It wasn’t hard to tame them, and it took only a little selective breeding to produce something with a natural riding saddle built into their backs. It doesn’t hurt them, and they don’t resist. Indeed, the odd thing would be they seem to lack any temperament at all. That is, until they smell predators. They don’t scare easily, but do make a bit of noise until I draw some kind of weapon for defense.”
George showed Fortis how to mount the creature, by pulling up a front foot and bending it up for a step. The beast simply leaned a bit so the one front leg bore the weight balanced, and Fortis managed to take a fairly comfortable seat. George mounted quickly and spoke in a sing-song voice words of gibberish. The two mounted beasts proceeded side by side, and the draught animal followed at the same pace. The stride was slow and gentle, so it was quite easy for Fortis to keep his seat. He noticed a faint increase in wan gray light on one horizon.
Ever the mindful host, George begin describing what to expect on the journey. “We are actually starting a bit late today. Normally we would be well on our way, but I knew you were out of rhythm for sleeping. Most off planet visitors emit an odor we detect which indicates how well synchronized they are to Misty. We do quite a bit of business by scent.
“The reason for this sort of schedule is because of the light gathering mildew on all our tents. We have the means to carry a charge stored up, but it has limits. We try to travel during the first half of the day, then stop and set up our tents to get the current generation going before evening mealtime. Plus, it allows us to charge up the predator fences. We didn’t need one out here in the polar flats, because virtually nothing lives here. These mounts were a solid half-hour walk away in the thin grassy hillocks where they could eat and rest.”
Fortis reminded himself “hour” here, as on every planet, was an ancient term for whatever numerical divisions of the day each culture used. By now they were seeing a few wisps of greenish sprouts here and there, so it was probably at least two kilometers from the ship. The pace of the beasts was easily faster than he could run, but it seemed much slower if he didn’t look down. In some ancient time, he supposed a Terran would think of the beasts as camels without the hump, and shorter legs.
George continued his explanation. “Once we enter more occupied lands, we’ll keep our mounts inside a charged fence. The predators will smell the charge in the lines and stay away. Only the youngest ones are foolish enough to approach the fence.”
Gradually, the grass grew thicker, taller. Fortis strained to see what was ahead in their direction of travel. It seemed there were no mountains anywhere, no sharp or great changes in elevation.
He could have sworn George could read his mind, as the man cited more pertinent data. “Misty has no detectable tectonic activity. The entire surface is relatively flat. The seas are shallow, and everywhere is a rather high water table. The desert in our equatorial belt is simply higher elevation, and thus a hard rocky place. With virtually zero precipitation, a mist rises in the middle to polar latitudes during the night, but there is none at the equator. Lacking a moon, we have no tides in our shallow seas. The breeze here is almost an accident, the result of winds elsewhere, which are quite stiff on the equator. We are feel sure much of this is due to our star being in a very stable cycle itself, though we lack the means to confirm it.”
Fortis promised himself he would find a way to check and let them know, even if only by transmitting the data to the birds.
George was talking again. “This hemisphere has more land, but this still leaves us using boats more than beasts for travel. In a few days we’ll reach the shore of this polar island and find the ship I left anchored somewhere just off the coast. Our boats are wide and flat, and many people live on them, seldom walking on land. Storms are exceedingly rare, just a bit of extra wind blowing the water in waves higher than normal. The currents run one way, the winds the other, for the most part. It’s all in giant loops, so travel is alternating between sailing and riding currents.”
They had been climbing almost imperceptibly so far. Then the ground sloped downward just noticeably. They came to a narrow band of still water. Stretching to his full height, Fortis thought it was some odd, narrow inlet of the sea. It smelled of it. Yet it was amazingly shallow, as George never slowed and the beasts and wagon splashed across. The bottom was the same grey, slated stuff near the pole. Turning, Fortis could barely make out his ship, a darker sharp object against a vaguely dark horizon. He surmised the pole was almost a bowl of lifeless ground. Scanning in all directions, he realized they had passed through a low spot on the rim of this giant polar bowl.
George leaned over a bit toward Fortis. “I would like to apologize for not showing you a map yesterday, but was worried you might have absorbed too much already. You’ll get a look at one when we stop for the day.”
Fortis cocked his head to one side and looked hard at George. “Why do I get the feeling you are reading my thoughts?”
George looked almost sheepish. “Any answer I give would make little sense to you, I’m afraid. It’s not as if I am conscious of your thoughts, as it were. I simply speak as it occurs to me. More than that would be hard to put in words, though I intend to try once you have spent some time among us.”
Fortis realized for once was actually just a little scared.
