PRIMEVAL DESIGNS

Old Space Dog relaxed in the huge chair, an Angerian mead in his hand. He adjusted his black leather eye-patch, pushed back his unkempt, white hair and took a long drink.
As usual, he had found an audience, even as the buffet awaited in the reception lounge of the Lustacean Homeworld. He thought of the pleasures people enjoyed in the Sector with this tall, almost mesmeric pleasure-seeking race.
‘Of course, I remember when Earthers first came here,’ Old Space Dog said. ‘Their pleasures were even greater then – before …’
Memories flooded back to him of his youth, exploring this new Sector, involving himself in all manner of adventures, legal and illegal. He came back to the present – noticed some of his audience heading off to the buffet, which was no good at all.
He coughed, loudly. Continued: ‘And my friend and I were among the first to sample their ways.’ The audience was immediately back – the myths of their early ‘ways’ were legend.
‘As soon as my friend and I arrived, two Lustacean females smiled and seemed to lure him away – which, as you can imagine, was not difficult. And I was left to experience the eroticism of this place by myself. And I can tell you, it was dangerous at time, very dangerous.’
Someone interjected: ‘There are stories of …’
Old Space Dog raised him hand to stop him. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I’ve heard the stories.’ A dullness came to his one visible eye. ‘I’ve seen it for myself.’
He remained transfixed for many seconds before continuing: ‘I t was many hours later that I again saw my friend; at least, in part. It was obvious he had “gone all the way” with the Lustacean erotic ceremonies. And it was with a sickness in my very stomach that I put my plate back on the buffet table, and left.’
And for once, as indeed it had been that night, Old Space Dog kept his mouth firmly shut.

© Anthony North, March 2008

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A DAY WITH THE SLOTHY

Old Space Dog always felt right when he visited the homestead on the outskirts of the small Angerian town. He seemed to fit, his well worn leather one-piece and unkempt, white hair complimenting the flaming red complexion of his old Angerian friend.
‘They’ve come a long way since the early days,’ he said, and his friend had to agree.
‘They’ were a family of Slothy living close by. They lived in what could almost be seen as a home, and their huge, lumbering, shaggy-haired bodies were attired in rudimentary clothes. Indeed, clothing had been the latest sign they had made in the last twenty years; and there was excitement that one Slothy professed himself a teacher and, in his basic sign language, had expressed a wish to open a school.
One of the new breed of young prospectors had accompanied Old Space Dog to the homestead. He couldn’t get used to the idea that what was once thought an animal – a delicacy, even – could suddenly be a sentient species.
‘But they are,’ said Old Space Dog. ‘I’d always known it. And I was one of the first to agree with Sister Isis about their intelligence.’ And as was Old Space Dog’s way, he had to retell the story:
‘Sister Isis was one of the first scientists to arrive on Angeria, and she immediately noticed the balance of life between Angerian and Slothy was being upset. And she was certain it was the Slothy who were gaining sentience.
‘Of course, the Angerians branded her a witch, talking to the animals, and when they first gave definite displays of high intelligence, they said she had charmed them.’
The old Angerian interjected: ‘And I still feel that way,’ he said.
‘Which was, in a way, what could have happened,’ continued Old Space Dog. ‘Maybe that intelligence had been there a long time, but it needed someone to communicate on their terms in order for it to be displayed.’
‘So it WAS Earthers who civilized them,’ the Angerian said.
Old Space Dog smiled. He looked around the homestead, recalled the violence of the colonization of the Sector, dissipating almost in line with the Slothy ascendance, and he felt the peace of just being with them.
‘Well, whatever the truth,’ he said, ‘in the end it is them who are civilizing us.’

© Anthony North, March, 2008

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SPIRIT RISING

Old Space Dog was bored. These interplanetary transports were all very well, but with not going into hyperspace, it could take longer to get round the planets in the system than going to Earth, hundreds of light years away. Okay, the B-Movers of the Space Rangers could go hyper in such short distances, as could the Envin space pirates, but transports? No.
He was sat there is his worn leather one-piece, his leather patch over one eye, his long white hair disheveled. The other passengers were wary of him. They knew Old Space Dog, and hoped he wouldn’t come out with another of his stories. But he did:
‘It was in the old days,’ he said, ‘on Angeria. Boy, did those Angerians know how to live then.’
He paused, waited for the irritation to subside, and he soon had them. He continued:
‘We’d heard of one of their hiding places for their artifacts. As you know, they were priceless, them things. And the local Angerian chief had placed a guard on them. But my gang were having none of that.’
A look of pride issued from his worn face. He leaned forward, increasing their attention. ‘We raised the spirit of their great warrior god …’
A theatrical pause. Gasps of disbelief. ‘It’s true,’ said Old Space Dog. ‘It suddenly appeared, wild and ferocious, and rose into the air. And those guards? Well, they just ran towards it, got on their knees and prayed. And that’s when we dived inside the cave and took the lot.’
Was that the end of the story, thought the passengers. Unlikely, they decided knowing HIM.
‘But we never realized what would happen next. For as the Warrior god disappeared, the Angerians took it as a sign that they should rise up and take back their land.’
The passengers remembered the incident now. Of course, they knew of nothing to do with Old Space Dog causing it. But the uprising could have got bloody indeed.
Earthers and the Pridians had landed on Angeria early on in the colonization of the system, and the Angerian way of life was soon at risk. And when the Warrior god appeared, the Pridians were soon on the scene, ready to put down any insurrection.
‘Well,’ Old Space Dog continued. ‘I may have been a thief, but I wasn’t going to be responsible for a slaughter. After all, them damned blue skinned, bald headed Pridians could be butchers when they got going.
‘Of course, they didn’t believe any such nonsense as a Warrior god really appearing. But they were in for a shock.
‘I watched from the hill overlooking the promise of the battlefield. I got down on my knees and conjured up, once more, the Warrior god, and he rose into the air before the Pridians. And boy, did they run off.’
Looks of disbelief were high now in the transport. Old Space Dog laughed.
‘The Angerians took this as a sign, too. The Warrior god had intervened to stop the fighting before it began. Was that a sign that war was not the answer to their problems? I don’t know. But they went home, the incident over. Although spotting us on the hill, we had to run like hell to escape them, dropping the artifacts on the way.’
The general feeling was that this was another story concocted in Old Space Dog’s imagination. After all, as if HE could conjure up spirits?
They were about to tell him so when there was a distortion in the air and he disappeared.
From the back of the cabin Old Space Dog raised his head. Quickly, he pushed the holographic generator into his pocket. It had come in useful often during his decades of adventures.
‘You don’t think I’d lie, do you?’ he asked.

© Anthony North, March 2008