Descending through the atmosphere was indeed a bumpy ride. I have seen astronauts returning to Earth on television. The shuttle or capsule pierces the atmosphere at just the right angle. The air turns into plasma, the whole apparatus shakes, and communications are lost. Dig, on the other hand, shot her ship down at a straight angle. That's fine when you have proven technology. If only human travelers were as tough.
This was the first thing that triggered my body's trembling mechanism. The second thing was the battalion of Obireeks who do the heavy work on this orange plantation. I had no warning whatsoever about what was coming, because space travelers who are used to everything are used to… well, everything. For me, however, the sixteen-limbed orange picker creature, resembling a giant stick insect, was a shock.
Now I know that Obireeks are friendly beings. Babaru translates their speech just like everyone else's. They specialize in performing this one task. When evolution is allowed to run rampant for long enough, things like these come to be. The Guuverts did slightly tamper with the giant insects of the old Earth during the Carboniferous period, though.
The traditional greeting for Obireeks is not a triple kiss on the cheek, but rather wrapping a new acquaintance in a multi-armed embrace. They can work in peace here because Spongi's cloaking technology makes them invisible to human eyes. In order for me to be on the same level as Dig and Babaru, Dig activated a one-person exception.
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And at that moment, an Obireek materialized as if from thin air right in front of me, grabbed me in a tight embrace, and even hummed softly. I was sure I had just become dinner. The moment lasted long enough for my body to release its annual supply of adrenaline in a single shot. It seems to take time for that amount to be flushed out of the system.
Dig did her best to calm me down. To some extent, her free and easy style even managed to distract my mind from the present moment. According to Dig, the Guuverts go to the café to get hammered, and the subsequent bathroom ritual is meant to soothe the gods of hangover. On their own planet, oranges have been illegal for eons.
Somewhere in the galactic backwoods, there has always been a suitable place for brewing moonshine. The Earth is located in just such a place; far enough away that no one is interested in it, but close enough that it was worth starting to grow oranges there. The appearance of a small café in Saturn's orbit certainly couldn't be considered a nuisance. Getting plastered became even easier for the Guuverts. The Obireeks take care of the cultivation, the Spongi arrange transportation to the café, and the Guuverts just need to show up.
Dig's ship is currently being loaded. The work is not rushed, and we are in no hurry to get anywhere. The Mumenos can wait for their observer a little longer. Their concept of time as an ancient species is quite vague anyway. A little before the start of this harvest trip, Cook tried to prepare me for meeting the Mumenos. According to him, the older the species, the slower they are. The Twirppies seem to be an exception to this.
This little writing session did me good again. I would never have believed that carrying my laptop with me everywhere would be so necessary. A dictation machine would be smaller and more convenient, but it wouldn't serve the same purpose. Sitting quietly and writing peacefully, like this in the shade of an orange tree, seems to work best.
Till next time.
- Johnny