My Fawcett Runneth Over

The year is 3015 on a planet on the outer edge of the Zaxan’Thiar-511 galaxy known as Cradus 216B.

July 20, 1969: Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin, and Michael Collins successfully completed Apollo 11 and immediately the voyage had doubters. Persons who were unconvinced that the travelers were successful in traversing the 238,900 miles to Luna. As if that was some impossible feat. Claiming N.A.S.A had concocted this fraudulent odyssey across the vacuum that is space. Claiming that we’d never actually landed there. Well, they never landed there. Humans, I mean. Well, Earth Humans, I should say. The whole universe has transpired an enumeration of accomplishments in the mere 1,046 years since Neil planted his size 9 ½  space boot on the porous surface of the moon. Simply landing on the moon a single time in the middle of the Summer of Love and then never being able to go back really brought out all the twentieth and twenty-first century Tin Foil Hats.

In the early mid twenty-first century, when the Earth’s civilization came to a general consensus that both religion and science could co-exist, because without one there wouldn’t be the other, the societies residing there pressed forward. Spending more funding on science and academics created a whole new world. Earth became a perfectly self-sufficient and functioning planet. The trees grew larger and created cleaner air, the water was more clear and bred more brightly colored and healthy marine life. For the first time in millenia, the planet and the people were coexisting and the toxic nature and relationship between the two had been cleared alongside the ozone. It was bliss.

Humans, though, forever imperfect and never satisfied, have always had an insatiable thirst for something more. Once space travel became a mainstream mode of transportation, humanity began to take up residence on other planets. Even other galaxies. Earth, however, does not remain vacant. Small societies remain spread about the blue rock. Those who are locked into a centuries long tradition of keeping the family homestead in the family, and the like. Earth, once a planet destined for downfall, now just sits as a Museum of Human History. Filed under Red Sun #3. 

Just over a thousand years ago, the Foil Hats were convinced the moon was a sound stage and now, here I am, the love child of a Human man's desire for something quite literally out of his world, and the something he found that was exactly that, on my way to Cradus 216B on the very outer edge of the Zaxan’Thiar-511 galaxy. Popping over just to grab some Azina berries from the Farmers Market. As primal as they were, historic Humans did have some lovely ideas that stretched across the universe. The Farmers Market being one of my favorites. Going to the market a thousand years ago was just that, a drive to the market. Now, it’s the same except I’m flying just a few small planets over to the end of a galaxy. Apples to apples, no?

Cradus 216B is a small dwarf planet. Incredibly small. The whole planet is the market. It’s roughly the size of a metropolitan area with only about 3-5 blocks of that being the market. The remainder is acreage for the farmers that sell their goods. When I land, I make sure to park by the stand nearest to the beginning of this long line of vendors. I like to make sure I will walk the entire market length. I don’t like to miss anything. It’s just like any other market in many respects. Vendors selling handmade goods, farm fresh fruits and vegetables, dried meats, jarred goods. The single differing variable is that other markets don’t have Odai. 

Odai is a Thez’anian. A lifeform born of this planet. He’s similar to me in that he too shares the bipedal and primitive DNA of Earth Humans. His makeup is much more watered down than mine. My skin is grayish and riddled with small bumps, making my appearance look rough, but it’s still fleshy like that of an Earthlings. Odai, however, is green. He shares a likewise makeup to plants of Earth with chloroplasts, except his are foreign in nature to those. His chloroplasts are of this planet, grown and produced under the White Sun. They create such a vibrant hue. The texture of his skin is smooth like fresh spring leaves. Soft and beautiful. 

“Good morning, Aellana. I was wondering when you’d find yourself this far my way.” His english has improved immensely. It’s funny. All the languages in the universe and everyone still, on some level, speaks some form of english. There’s no doubt it should be a dead language but those like Odai, those with a love for the vintage, keep it alive. I smile to myself at his dialect. He smiles to himself- proud.

“I stopped by my moms before heading this way. Sorry if I kept you waiting.” I bounce on my heels, several feet from his stand, admiring his haul. He motioned me over with a nod as he tightened the lid on a jar and handed it gently over to a small child. The boy took it and looked at me, flashed a sweet tusk-filled smile my way, and then hopped along. Different bins and baskets of various fruits and vegetables were arranged all around. He leaned down below his stand and brought a burlap back to the surface with him. He sat it on the table with a smirk. “Odai, don’t pretend like you know why I’m here.” I tease him with a small eyeroll and feign disinterest in the sack. He laughs, taking a seat and propping his boots up on a bucket, knocking dried mud off in clumps. 

His long hair, like vines, dreaded and pulled back to show his face and ears. His sharp features, regardless how small, remained prominent and commanding. A beautiful specimen. His whole species, I mean. His entire lineage, with the exception of a single family member a few generations back that prompted the humanoid look amongst them, were all of this planet and this lifestyle. Cradus 216B is what is known as a Green Planet. The whole galaxy of Zaxan’Thiar-511 is an ecosystem galaxy. As cliche as it is, the planets are color coded. Blue for planets that are mostly water and marine life creatures. The green planets, like Odai’s homestead, are farming and foliage planets. Full of forestry, grassy plains, and plowed fields. His ancestors were similar to fairies or sprites. Very large… fairies or sprites. Centuries in forestry and greenery becoming a part of their anatomy. Not all lifeforms thrive under the Red Sun. 

“Were you going to buy something today or just…” he pauses to choose his words, “pilfer?..” he learned a new word and is using it, “through my things?”

“Pilfer is correct. And I got some dried iphralex from Vocox, so I’m all set.” Dried iphralex is the equivalent to beef jerky except a million times better. I’ve had beef jerky and honestly, cows have nothing on iphralex.

It’s he who rolls his eyes this time. A woman approaches and he rises to his feet to greet her. She’s stunning. Her skin is a clear blue like the oceans, but purples and pinks reflect on her scales as the sun shines. She has deep shark-like gills along her neck. They look painful. I know they aren’t but I couldn’t imagine. She has a helmet over her head. Filled with water that bubbles at the filter in the back. She fills a bag and exchanges pleasantries with Odai. I catch her name as Briquine. So lovely. “Stop gawking.” I snap to at Odai’s voice. I hadn’t realized I’d been staring. 

“She was so pretty…” I find myself feeling inadequate. Aside from my mother being Nuu’taxian, there’s nothing spectacular about me. I’m not the descendant of forest sprites or marine life, and I don’t have gills or skin like leaves. My ancestors were aviators. Birds basically. I wear feathers in my hair as an accessory rather than an inherited trait. I blush at my self-deprecating thoughts and reach into my pocket to remove my money. “I just need the azina berries, please.”

I hand over the payment without looking at him. Embarrassed, I can feel his gaze so I force myself to make eye contact… and a joke for my own comfortability. “You should have asked for her contact. If not for you than for me.” I laugh at myself and he gives me a look of scrutiny. I sense a lecture building behind his eyes. Something about not making light of everything and letting moments linger in the air to familiarize myself with feelings that I don’t like. Instead…

“What are you doing with these?” He slides the burlap that he’d pulled out upon my arrival toward me. I stand somewhat shocked. Mainly because I was definitely expecting a lecture, but also because he’d never asked what I’d planned to make before.

“P-uh-a pie…” I stammer. Blinking. “Azina berry and gur’ala.” One of those comfort foods you make for yourself every so often as a treat. Except my “every so often” was very often. 

“I remember when we were kids and your grandma would come by and buy them from my old man.” We both smile in fondness.

“My grandma just thought your dad was handsome, is all. She wanted the berries too but back then we could have gotten them from anywhere. She just, you know…” he laughed and then sighed. “She’s the one who taught me everything I know. She used to quote some old Earth guy, George Bernard Something, and she would say ‘there is no love sincere than the love of food’.”

“That’s your life motto!” He exclaimed, noting that the quote molded me to me. “Food and all things related are your soul fuel!” I laugh sarcastically and snatch my berries from the stand. 

“I don’t have to take this from you!” I poke my tongue out and start a wave of “goodbye until next weekend” and he stops me.

“You know, you may not have rainbow scales, Aellana, but you’re just as pretty.” I pause and stare blankly. He continues; “You’re the first of your humanoid evolution.” I remain unmoving, Trying to gather his points in my mind. “The Nuu’taxian genes are diluted in you but they are there. They’ll grow with each lineage.” He reaches and removes a feather from my hair. “You don’t need to wear these to know what you are.” He places it in my hand. “Your hairs fall in feathered pleats.” My eyes widen. “NOT Farrah Fawcett feathers!” We share a laugh at this severely outdated earth reference. I look at the feather in my hand. “For the body is not enough. There must be food for the soul.”

I feel his voice resonate and the words vibrate my core. I finally raise my head to have my eyes meet his. I feel a certain smile enter my face and my voice sounds the words, “Doris Day?” 

He shrugs and smiles, turning to walk back to his stand. “I’ll see you next week,” he calls over his shoulder.

“Maybe I’ll stop by tomorrow.” I gesture toward the farmhouse in the distance, He looks from it to me. “I’ll drop off a pie.”

* * *

In my bathroom, I stand in front of the mirror and I see myself. I recognize myself. I see the feathers and the markings of my mother. I recognize my high cheekbones and almond shaped eyes derived from my grandmother. I see the pale lavender undertones of my cool gray skin. I look to my hands and I see stretched and thin fingers with long nails, my arms elongated and my elbows sharp. My long raven hair, like Odai said, pleated like feathers along my head. I see all of the women before me. I see their plight, their accomplishments, their sacrifice, and all they’ve done that lead to me. No gills, no rainbow scales. No skin like soft leaves or hair like vines. Just me. With grayish-lavender horripilation skin and anti-Farrah feathered hair.