Interplanetary Travel

The first thing John felt as he stepped from the the gate ramp was the unexpected weight of the atmosphere. Thick and cloyingly hot. It reminded him of heat waves on Earth, when the locals would jokingly insist “but it’s a dry heat”. This was a thick heat. 

He walked past throngs of tourists, trying to ignore the urge to cough at the unfamiliar air. He made his way to the baggage claim via the helpful pictograph signs on the walls. His steps felt lumbering but he wasn’t jet-lagged. Space-lagged? Ship-lagged. He nearly bumped into someone as his mind wandered. A local with an armload of stationary, one of the few constants of interplanetary travel. If there was a public terminal you can bet your appendages there will be someone flinging ads at anyone too polite to decline. Or too awkward like John, who was now the reluctant owner of something he couldn’t read.  

Round liquid orbs flowed freely across the page as if light as soap bubbles. A female face was reflected in the largest of the spheres, gazing at the display from below. There was what John knew to be numerics on the lower half. He pulled out his calendar and compared the dates, the event was that night. Convenient as he had today marked for exploring the alien city. He tucked the leaflet in his single bag.

Outside the spaceport, John flagged ride using a gesture he learned from the abundance of friendly signs. The driver hardly glanced at the pamphlet before setting off, a fellow of few words like his peers. Businesses sailed past the air cab window. The company names were barely noticeable, dwarfed by displays of architecture and tended plants instead. Billboards were nearly nonexistent. There was something unsettling about a city so loud, yet with so little to sell to him. He’d heard of the unique culture, popular with the listening type who preferred to speak a more subtle language of expressions and gestures. folks with a spiritual lean flocked to the planet in hopes that it would “reset” the anxiety of living in a world where one was constantly needled with the opinions of others. While not particularly sold on the theory, John had apprehensively accepted the short business trip in similar hopes 

Due to the drivers skill and John’s general disinterest in time management, they arrived at the theatre a crisp hour early. At least, he suspected it was a theatre. The building wasn’t large, but it was imposing. It resembled a church in stature, but with an unmistakable touch of brutalism. Buildings here were meant to be a canvas, but this one felt bare. There were no benches to be seen, but the small yard was filled with a patchwork garden, native plants broken up by concrete ledges of varying heights. Small groups were seated among them to wait. John picked a seat he felt was sufficiently distanced from the gathering crowd. He was quickly learning to enjoy the chances to people watch. On earth you would have to take great care not to appear rude, but here the citizens didn’t seem to mind, so long as your face was pleasant and neutral. John felt unexpectedly relaxed as the garden began to buzz with diverse company. There were plenty of human heads poking above the crowd, but most attendees were Asloi, the people who settled the planet hundreds of years before the human race initiated contact. Asloi was their chosen name, but like other names, they rarely invoked it. In their accepting nature, they usually referred to others simply as locals or visitors. The time slid by in a pleasant hush. John followed the tide as it slowly flowed into the hall. It was surprisingly church like inside, opting for just two sections of bench seating, separated by a central isle. 

When everyone was settled, the lights dimmed, and a solitary figure walked into the center of the small stage. She moved timidly but something about her betrayed the grace of a dancer. She began a routine that while pleasing, was stilted. She hopped daintily and darted her eyes around as if looking for something. Suddenly she dropped to the ground. Her body condensed around a point obscured by the brownish mist. She blossomed back outwards, and John was suddenly struck by the beauty of watching a body so unlike his own. Her 4 arms, fanned from her body like a lotus blossom draped in white. The petals of linen parted to expose a small blue orb, cradled like a child. The room brightened, and suddenly the air above filled with gelatinous blue spheres, floating above the seats. The audience reached for them in palpable excitement. Some bounced from the walls and ceiling, and a hidden spotlight left vibrant green stains behind. 

The performance continued. The gravity was weaker than Earth’s and the Asloi performer seemed to soar t every leap. The glistening bubbles ambled toward her, and she drew from the mist two long ribbons. She allowed the anticipation in the air to carry them fluttering toward the spheres. At every contact the bubbles stuck and followed. The mists flowing over the ground became white. She flourished downwards, and where the ribbon trailed, holographic plants sprung from the ground and swayed in the fictional wind. The music became infused with nature, sounds of rushing wind and the sing-song call of an animal John couldn’t quite place his finger on. Vines and trees twisted up the severe edges of the hall’s interior, the magnificence of the display left the initial harsh design as a faint memory.

The bubbles were lower now, enough that the taller viewers could reach them. John was fooled by the thickness of the substance, and grasped for one. It flexed then burst into his palm. He was transfixed by it for a moment until a sound behind him caught his attention. He turned to see a wide eyed Asloi child staring at the goo. John smiled a bit then straightened his back. Using his new experience, he reached out again. This time he used his fingertips to lightly tap the bubble down toward the child. He gestured toward the young girl, who spread her fingers the same way. The sphere landed gently in her small hand, and she gawked at it. The girls parents swished their hands in thanks. Proud of his good deed, John turned back to see the other humans in the crowd doing the same for their shorter peers. One adventurous toddler across the isle squeezed a bubble as hard as his tiny hands could allow. It splashed onto his face and clothes, and laughing he began to eat it. Soon, most youths and a sizeable number of adults followed suit. Despite the obvious concern from half the crowd, local folks seemed nonplussed. Not for the first time, John suspected he was missing some context. 

At some point, other dancers entered from side doors and milled around the distracted crowd, swirling ribbons that glowed and trailed with the rich hues of nature. The outside melted away as the audience danced with performers and sampled new the new colours of floating orb. At some point John was struck by a projectile bubble, it splattered the back of his neck to the delight of the girl he’d met before. She pointed the blame away to her father, who played along. 

In the initial din, the audience-turned-partygoers failed to notice the simulated day pass, but it soon grew dusky. The dancers gracefully ushered them back to their seats. The female star took the stage one more time as the hall lights faded out. Where the halls had once been drenched in blue and green, they now reflected a brilliant sunset. The light from two suns reflected in competing shades on the glistening surfaces. As the audience gazed at the final display, she spoke for the first time. John snapped his attention back in surprise. He didn’t know what to expect, poetry or a song perhaps.

He couldn’t help but laugh in amused shock at the reality. Two backup dancers swished onstage with a myriad of boxes. John still didn’t understand the language, but he didn’t have too. She pulled a fat aluminum can out of one box, and opened it with a satisfying crack. Some sparkly blue beverage spilled out, glistening the same as the walls and faces of now sugar-rushed children. In his amusement, John bought two cases. He later discovered he hated the taste, but it didn’t matter. One of the few constants of interplanetary travel, but for the first time John was happy to have accepted.