Learning to Breathe

Garal had often felt there were not enough hours in a day, regardless of the planet. She’d felt like the days had been close to long enough on Haror IV, where the days were close to twice the length of those on her home world. Still, it had only been close to long enough.

Now, though, she had no one but herself to blame. As the owner-operator of her own long-range freighter, she decided what a day was in transit. She stopped what she was working on to soak her aching tentacles. Her gripping surfaces were drying out and raw, and she still had so much work to do.

She soaked for hours, until her ship dropped from c-space into normal space. Garal was surprised to see that she’d already reached her destination.

Letting herself drip on the floor, she crawled out of the creamy liquid in her soak tank and headed for the bridge. On the way she grabbed a wrap with a much-relieved tentacle. Settling into the captain’s chair, she called the station ahead.

“Station GaiaNova-17 Dock Control, this is merchant vessel Shallow Pools, ident XM3279.43R, Captain Garal Eighth of Seventeenth, requesting clearance for docking, over.”

“Shallow Pools, GN-17 DC. I have your planet of registry as Kura II, your transit plan from Haror IV station, but no cargo manifest, over.”

“DC, Shallow Pools, all correct. My hold is empty, except for scrap fixtures and cleaning and repair supplies. I was remodeling, over.”

“Shallow Pools, DC; you are clear to dock in ring four, slip eighteen. Set nav to accept docking control GN-17-4, over.”

“DC, Shallow Pools. I copy ring four, slip eighteen, nav accept GN-17-4, over.”

“Shallow Pools, DC; good copy. The dock master will check your supplies for any hazardous materials and can direct you to the recycling center for the scrap. Welcome to human space. GN-17 Dock Control out.”

After the dock master confirmed that none of her cleaning supplies were hazardous, he took the time to get a freight pusher for her that she could load all the old fixtures on and haul to the recycling center, on ring five. She had loaded the pusher before she realized how quiet the dock was. She’d expected a lot more in the way of freight moving through the station.

The recycling center was busier than the freight docks on ring four. She thought that was odd, but she was in human space at an aging station. She guided the pusher to the next available slot.

“Ah, you must be from the Shallow Pools.” The human woman wearing a name tag that said “Lina” began to scan the cart with a hand-held device. “Some of these fixtures still look newish. Are you sure you don’t want to hold on to ’em and sell ’em yourself?”

“I’m sure.” Garal wrapped her tentacles around themselves. “So, how much to take all this off my back?”

“Huh? Well, we’ll probably salvage the light fixtures, and the…is that an anurian soak tank?” She tapped on the display of her hand-held device.

“Yeah. It’s like a human bath — I think that’s the word — except it filters and recirculates the dermis rejuvenation liquid.”

“Yeah, I kind of thought that’s what it was. I soaked in one of those, once. Never again. All my hair fell out, including my eyebrows and eyelashes, and all my nails got so soft I almost lost them as well. Except for that, it was great. My skin never looked better.” She laughed.

Garal continued soothing herself by wrapping and unwrapping her tentacles. “So…how much?”

“Best I can do is 150 credits. You could probably do better selling the soak tank in anurian space.”

“I—I didn’t expect it to cost so much. I can take it back and—”

“No! No, that’s not cost, that’s how much I can pay you for it.”

Garal’s four eyestalks shot up in surprise. “You’re…paying me for this?”

“Well, yeah. You bring scrap or items to be recycled, we pay you for the value…minus a little for overhead, of course.”

“Oh! That’s fantastic, then! Sold.”

Garal returned to her ship with a new swish in her slither. She’d already set aside enough for refueling, and had enough food to last a while, but had been worried that without a good-paying run out of GN-17 she’d be hard-pressed to continue on. While not a lot, a 150-credit buffer did feel good.

At the ship, she paid for refueling, and got directions to the outbound freight board. She waited until she was certain they were fueling the Pools correctly, then made her way to ring two.

Part of ring two was dedicated to passenger slips and transport to ring one, and the other was offices. She followed the signs in twelve languages to the Outbound Transport Office and let herself in.

There was activity at many of the offices she’d passed, but this one was quiet. She knew from past experience to press the button on the device beside the door to get a queue number and had a tentacle about to do so when someone said, “Don’t bother. You’re next.”

She turned to the counter where a bored looking human — she couldn’t determine whether they were male or female — motioned her up. “Hi,” she said as she approached. “I need an outbound cargo…to anywhere within a hundred parsecs…oh! And it has to fit in the Shallow Pools, and I can land at up to 2.6 standard gravities with 4.87 tonnes of cargo. … Can only take off from that empty, though.”

The bored human nodded, typed something into their console, and handed Garal a small, printed chip. “Take this to ring one. Information desk can point you in the right direction.”

“Wh—what? What’s the cargo? There’s only one?”

“It’s the only thing outbound that’ll fit in your ship. Going 40.237 parsecs to a 0.8 standard gravity moon. Cargo weight, less than 0.3 tonnes.”

Garal burbled, the anurian equivalent of a heavy sigh. Such a small load was hardly going to pay well, but at least she wouldn’t be using much in the way of fuel. “Thank you.”

Where ring four had been too silent, ring one was a cacophony of noise and color. Sapients from all over mixed and mingled in the shops and eateries. She made her way to the nearest information kiosk and showed the chip, where she was told to wait in the small dining establishment beside the kiosk.

She figured she might as well get a fresh meal, as it would likely be the last one for a while. Her ship had plenty of food stored up, but not the sort one would get at home…or in an eatery.

No sooner had Garal received her steaming bowl of ramen than she was joined by an elderly human male pulling a travel case, on top of which rode a large carrier containing some sort of Earth animal.

“You must be Garal, of the Shallow Pond?” he asked.

“Shallow Pools,” she said.

“Right, right. Sorry. I’m Frank. I’ll let you finish your meal, then I’m ready whenever you are.”

“You’re the one with the cargo? Is it anything dangerous?” she asked.

He laughed. “Do I look dangerous?”

“You’re…not cargo.”

“Technically, I am,” he said. “Whether I’m boarded as a passenger on a liner or as ‘cargo’ on a freighter. I’m just weight you’re moving around.”

Two of Garal’s tentacles wrapped around themselves while she continued to eat and tried to look unconcerned. “Where are you headed?”

“Going home to my moon, Spera,” he said. “It’s around Alnus — Silva VI.”

“Your moon? You mean, the moon you came from?”

“No, I mean the moon I bought.” He laughed. “I’m kidding. I’m settling into a retirement community there and didn’t want to travel with all the noisy people, so I figured I’d wait here on the station until a small freighter came available.”

“How long have you been waiting?”

“Seventy-nine standard days…about two months Earth — Sol III — time.” He seemed lost in thought for a moment. “That would be eighty-five or eighty-six days on Eklara.”

Garal's eyestalks perked up. “You know the name of my planet, beyond just Kura II.”

“Of course,” he said, “I remember my stellagraphy classes. It was my favorite subject. Got a degree in Stellapolitics.”

She looked at him, then at the animal carrier. “That’s not venomous or anything, is it?”

“No. That’s a tortoise. Her name’s Celia.” Frank started. “Oh! Almost forgot. Payment up front.” He pushed a stack of credits across the table to her.

She kept eating while counting the credits with two other tentacles. Six thousand. “You could just rent a private transport for that. You’d be there in less than a standard day. The Pools isn’t slow, but it’ll take nine standard days to get there.”

Frank smiled. “That’s why I’m paying you the big bucks. I like to take my time. Besides, it’s a nuisance rate. There’s not likely any outgoing freight from Spera, so you’ll end up flying empty to the station at Quercus — Silva II.”

Garal left NG-17 with 6,141 credits in her satchel, a trunk of everything Frank owned in the hold, Frank, and his ‘pet.’ Once she entered c-space, she had time to go back to finishing up the remodel. The only thing left was wiring in the new lights in the galley.

She walked in to find Frank wiring up the last of them. The rest had been connected, sealed and seated, and were working.

“I—uh, thank you?”

“I see you’ve done a lot of work on the Pools, just thought you could use a break.”

She didn’t know how to answer, instead wrapping her tentacles around themselves.

He sealed and seated the light, which came on as it clicked into place. “Look, I can tell you’re the sort to work your fingers to the bone—er…work your tentacles to the nub? Anyway, you’re not one to slow down — ever — are you?”

“You are more correct than not,” she said.

“We have time,” he said. “I’m going to teach you what I’ve learned from Celia.” He pointed to the far side of the galley where he’d converted the carrier to a fence that hemmed her in. Small piles of fresh greens and fruit were placed in various spots within the fence.

Garal watched, mesmerized, as Celia moved with slow, deliberate steps to the next pile of food. Once there, she eyed it with a tilted head, then took a slow bite.

“I used to run at everything like I was tilting at windmills,” Frank said, “until I got Celia. That was forty years ago — roughly twenty-eight or so stellar revolutions for Eklara.”

“And she changed you?”

Frank smiled. “Not right away, of course. No. I used to get frustrated that she took so long to do anything. I’d want her to hurry up and eat so I could be sure she was properly fed before I left to work. Getting her to come out of her enclosure for cleaning was even worse.”

“What changed?”

“I did…eventually. I figured out that just because she was slow, it didn’t mean she wouldn’t get a thing done. Then I got the bright idea, that maybe I could slow down once in a while.” He walked over and scratched Celia’s shell. “She can feel that you know. She likes it.”

“So, why did you finish up my task?”

“Because, young miss, you are going to spend the next nine days learning how to relax, and Celia and I will be your teachers.”

“But there’s still so much to—”

“Nonsense. The ship is spotless, except for a few drops of dermis rejuvenation liquid in the hall that I already cleaned up so Celia wouldn’t get into it.”

“But there’s—”

“No buts. Is there anything on the ship likely to fail any time soon?”

“No.”

“Are there any pressure leaks, fuel leaks, or shorts?”

“No.”

“The air handlers seem to be working fine. Are the scrubbers and filters in need of immediate replacement?”

“No, they’re all new.”

“See. Nothing to do but relax.”

Her tentacles tightened around themselves. Frank just gave a kind smile, as if waiting for her to come around. She felt something inside let go. Everything that could be done by busy, was done. Her tentacles relaxed. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” he said.

She spent the next hours watching Celia eat her spread out meal, sometimes stopping to nap in between. Frank surprised her with a hot bowl of ramen, before she even realized she was hungry.

She made a point of taking her time with it, as Frank did. They shared idle conversation about his past teaching Galactic Politics, her past as a mechanic until she saved up enough to buy the Pools and get it space worthy, and…in the best moments…nothing at all.

Without needing to rush from one task to another, the nine days in transit seemed at once never-ending and over too soon. The long meals, easy conversation, watching and stroking Celia as she maintained her own pace…then, back to regular space and time to land.

The landing pad on Spera was below ground, with a cover that sealed over once they settled. All the habitations were in domes, as the atmosphere was too thin and lacking in oxygen. Bioengineered plants covered the moon, though, making it look like a lush paradise.

Garal rolled Frank’s travel case down the cargo ramp and gave Celia a farewell rub on her shell. She walked with Frank through the airlock into the tunnels that connected the domes. Signs in Galactic Common and several human languages pointed the ways to the various domes. “Which dome did you say?” she asked.

“I didn’t. But it looks like it’s just a ten-minute walk from here.”

“Can I help you with your case?”

“If you want to. If not, I’m sure I can manage, and you can go find real cargo at Quercus.”

Garal stretched her tentacles. “I’m in no hurry.”