Seamus’ threat worked wonders on my productivity, and he didn’t even threaten anything specific.
Instead of marching around aimlessly and spending more time looking at the plants than anything (like I was the previous three days), I have now found a reasonably tall tree and clambered my way up. After finding a branch thick enough that I can trust it with my weight, and broad enough that I’m not going to drop anything, I settle down and pull out my field journal. An errant thought flits through my head.
Would he notice if I faked entries?
Tempting as it is to get my ass out of the frying pan, I think it would be in my best interest not to forge entries on this matter. Seamus seems to be taking it pretty seriously, and I’m not about to shoot myself in the foot — again.
When I had asked my friends for advice on how to go about this mission, I received mixed responses. Considering exactly who it is that I asked, not all of them are realistic or usable. Taupaz, however, had offered something sensible. Of course, I had done the complete opposite of what he advised as soon as I stepped foot out here. I don’t really regret it, though — it’s hard to get permission to explore beyond the base. Until now, it was a right reserved for certain researchers whose fields are relevant to venturing outside. The freedom had me a bit giddy to begin with, I will admit.
But now instead of wandering around like a lost little sheep, I’m going to sit still and hope for the best that one of the natives will wander past. To be honest, I don’t see it as something that is likely to happen, but a girl can dream.
Then if, at the end of the day, I am still without fruit to show for my labour… I will probably fib a little in the journal. I really don’t want to face Seamus again without the results he wants. A little white lie for survival is okay, right?
Heaving a big breath out in attempt to calm myself, I settle my side against the tree and smack my cheeks. Alright. It’s showtime.
I sit, and I observe.
/ / /
The first thing of note to happen occurs an hour later, and it’s my stomach rumbling its displeasure. I skipped breakfast this morning because Seamus summoned me at the ass crack of dawn, and now I am hating him more than ever.
“Honestly,” I grumble as I reach into the depths of my bag, fishing around. “Stupid Seamus, waking me up early and sending me out without food. So rude.”
My hand gropes around a few more moments before I freeze and dread drops in my stomach.
Did I… pack my food?
I have a very condemning, sinking feeling that I did not, in fact, remember to grab my food when I left earlier. This puts me in a bit of a predicament, because the second I return to grab something to eat my tablet is going to ping a notification to Seamus that I’ve re-entered the vicinity and I’m going to get my ass handed to me. At the same time, there are very limited local fruits that have been confirmed by our researchers to be safe and edible for humans, and I have no idea what they are.
Honestly, feel like I could cry right now.
Right when I think I might be about to give up and drop a big, fat tear, my hand brushes against something crinkly. Instantly, it is yanked from the depths and in my hands for inspection.
It’s one of the bars from yesterday’s stash! Muesli, granola, I don’t care what it is — it’s going straight in my belly.
I rip it open, fully preparing to shove the entire thing in my mouth when a soft scuttling from my left makes me freeze. Slowly, I allow my gaze to slip over and land on the culprit. What I see startles me, but in the same way suddenly seeing a kitten out of nowhere would.
The closest thing I can relate it to is some sort of lemur. Big, golden eyes take up most of its head, a tiny button nose sniffling inquisitively and large, fox-like ears shifting with each breath I take. The fur running along its body is deep, deep purple, broken only by stripes of cyan and white, and is fluffiest over the belly. It has three tails, two of them currently being used to wrap around the branch above while its feet are on the branch I am on, the last hovering behind it. I can only assume the pose is preparation for a quick escape, should it need it.
“Oh,” I murmur, eyes wide. “Hello.”
I don’t feel like it’s going to try and eat me or anything; especially considering its sniffing nose is leading it ever so closer to the bar in my hands. My hands twitch, tempted to pull it away. “This is the only one I have, though...”
Its huge eyes flit from me to the bar, and before I know it I have already resigned myself to half a snack and I’m breaking the muesli bar in the middle. I ignore the grief the action causes, and place my portion in my lap for later consumption.
I break off a smaller bit for the lemur-thing to try, holding it out with one hand. “Here, it’s yummy. You can have the rest when I’m sure you’re actually going to eat it.”
To my surprise, another colour ripples through the creature’s huge eyes, flooding them luminous green, and it lets out a happy trill. So gently I can only call it polite, the lemur reaches out a hand, three long fingers and a long thumb pinching the piece of bar and retracting. It sniffs it, bringing the crumb close to its nose and opening its mouth for two thin tongues to emerge and taste it. With a happy yip, the piece of muesli is gobbled up and the lemur is smacking its hands together in glee.
I can’t help the surprised laugh that escapes me. What the hell, where has this little creature been this whole time?! It’s so cute. Without pause, I break the rest of the lemur’s half into bite-sized pieces, and set them on the branch before him. A series of elated clicks and trills escape him, and I pull my pen from my bag as he turns his attention to the snack.
[DAY 04, LOG #001]
[Not one of the natives, but I have encountered a medium-sized, lemur-like creature. Three tails, prehensile. Two arms and two legs, three long fingers and one opposable thumb on the hands. Very, very big eyes — is it normally nocturnal? Perhaps… The coat is dark purple, broken only by a few stripes and patterns with cyan and white colouring.
The creature is friendly, approached me first in what seemed to be curiosity. I think it definitely wanted my food. Seems pleased with the muesli bar. Hints at a more herbivorous diet, maybe? . . . ]
Contrary to how the lemur gobbled up that first piece, it nibbles much slower on the rest. Slowly, as not to startle it (not that I think anything could at this point in time, it’s pretty enraptured with the snack), I retrieve my tablet and hold it up to snap a photo of the creature. I am so thankful technology these days has phased out the annoying shutter sound it used to have, because that might have scared my new little friend off.
He stays a while, all things considered. He sniffs around my bag, but doesn’t run off with anything, so I let him do what he wants. Every so often he will chirp at me, and I will respond with some random bullshit to make myself feel less lonely. Eventually, when I get curious enough that I can’t restrain the urge anymore, I end up slowly reaching my hand out to see if he will let me pet him.
To my complete and utter surprise, the lemur seems intelligent enough to guess what I am after, and scuttles closer before lowering its head softly. My heart feels like it’s going to burst from my chest at the cuteness, and I don’t even realise I am cooing as I softly stroke its head with a careful finger.
The lemur… is so soft…
I don’t want to push its boundaries, so when it shuffles and gets ready to move away, I retract my hand. This much is more than enough, really. I’m going to brag so hard when I get back — Ritika and Taupaz will be reasonably jealous, but Bart is going to lose his mind! He’s going to scream when I show him the photos I have taken.
Before long, the lemur leaves, chittering happily the whole way. I’m thankful for the time he was here, though, because now I won’t be going back as empty-handed as I would have been otherwise, and it made time go a little faster.
With the threat of a native creature coming and stealing my lunch no longer present, I eat the rest of my bar. There was a reason I hadn’t eaten it yesterday, but I’m glad at least the lemur liked it.
I wonder if I will get to name it?
Probably not, that feels like a huge responsibility anyway. What if the name I choose is too dumb, and the rest of the team laugh at me? No thanks. I refrain from scribbling down my ideas in the book and instead keep them for my tiny little notepad. I use it for reminders, but this will do as well. I don’t think anyone will find them there.
Now without company, I resume my previous task of sitting and waiting-- I mean, sitting and observing. I feel slightly better about it now, though.
Even so, a glance at my surroundings reveals that it’s gotten a lot later than anticipated. I have a few more hours before I will have to go back — Rheia might be quite comfortable and hospitable during the day, but the second the sun disappears over the horizon and the planet’s moons make an appearance, it is a very different story.
All of the rovers and exploratory drones that we have sent out after dark have either come back in irreparable tatters, or haven’t come back at all. Considering how little time we have spent here on this planet, we have yet to discover what, or who, it is that is responsible for the carnage. The forests have been deemed safe during the day, but I’m not about to put my hand up for a first-hand account of the nighttime experience.
After a few hours go by with nothing new to show for it, I resign myself to the fate that awaits me back at the base, and begin to pack my things back up. He’s probably going to kill me, or maybe he will see that it’s not entirely my fault that I haven’t come across one of the indigenous people yet.
Carefully, I sling my bag over my shoulder and begin the somewhat nerve-wracking journey back down to the ground. I didn’t realise just how high I climbed earlier. I end up having to drop the last foot to the ground, a soft ‘ooft’ escaping as I do so.
Dusting my clothes off, I let out a soft sigh and turn on my heal, preparing to follow the directions on my smart watch back to base. The second I face the other way, I pause. Something is rustling slightly in the distance. I feel my breath catch in my throat; this is a lot louder than the noises I hear from smaller creatures that make themselves known.
Slowly, so slowly, I creep as quietly as possible to a position where I can see — mercifully, nothing snaps under my feet as I do so and I remain mostly undetected.
There, beyond the shrubs that hide me from view and a good few metres away, is a tall, long-limbed, violet-hued figure. Horns curl atop their head, the polished texture hiding amongst braided dark lavender strands. Thin, wispy material that floats on the breeze and shimmers like gossamer is draped over their huge body, revealing only hints of a feminine figure beneath. They move like a cat, a long, sturdy tail curling and flicking behind them before they use it to hold a woven basket. Toned muscles shift beneath smooth, rubbery skin as they reach up and pluck fruit from the lower branches of a tree, clawed feet shifting in the dirt to brace themselves.
Oh my god.
I’ve found a Rheian.
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