To Get Away

TO GET AWAY

SHARON FEINSTEIN
THE SAKARI

 

To say I hate the planet of ZerShaz is kind. It was a malicious warder which sought to torture me. The gravity was a more than Earth so I felt tired all the time. That was the least obnoxious feature in living on ZerShaz.

 

In the mornings it was blindingly clear, a Northern light which cut into my eye balls as a knife. But it was cold, like the Arctic Circle.

 

As the sun moved up the horizon it began to warm and for a few hours it was like Jamaica. But then it got hotter. Hotter and the air thicker. The thick humid air pressing down on me as the sky covered with dark clouds.

 

For hours. For hours ZerShaz held in a pre-rain denseness, dark and humid, then rain. And rain. Not storm or drizzle, an even measured rain, beyond boring. For hours.

 

The sun did go down at some point, usually by this time I was in bed because the days of ZerShaz are thirty six hours long.  Thirty Six hours, eighteen light, eighteen dark.

 

Eighteen dark hours while the land cooled. The rain stopped, the sky cleared and it got colder and colder.

 

No wonder the ZerShaz mutated in their direction, they had to survive. No human could survive here, save hidden in a space ship or locked within a sealed room in a fortress.

 

When Daktoy first brought me here I figured that this was the way all Zee planets were. I kind of forced myself to accept it as if there was no choice. I hadn't known until Daktoy brought me to Zechia. Magnificent Zechia. Why hadn't he seen how uncomfortable and weak I was, and take me there?  Take me there days after landing here.  Not months and months, maybe a year Earth time.   

 

No.  He had me on ZerShaz, suffering.  Day after Day, having to virtually live in a ship.  Until a few months ago, when he took me to Zechia.   Zechia where I was happy.   And I didn't want to leave.

 

I suppose I got dramatic, telling him I rather die on Zechia then live on ZerShaz. Told him I was going to have my baby on planet. He was worried, but I wasn't.   

 

I had my baby girl on Zechia.  Had fiMalca in my own house on my own island I called Reggae. 

 

It was wonderful. Then, we had to return to ZerShaz; just for a little while where I'd see our son, Falky, introduce fiMalca to the people, then return to Zechia.

 

The little while was getting longer and I was getting vexed. Daktoy had promised I'd get back.

 

Yeah, I know he's their god/king and supposed to be on ZerShaz, the big deal planet. But I don't want to be here, I can't be here. I suffer here.

 

Day after day, until today.

 

I went to him, don't give a ras about any protocol. He was talking to one of the others and I heard 'Shalimar' and asked what was happening, and Daktoy says to me; " It's not your concern ", like I'm some idiot only useful for amusement, then turns back to his conversation.

 

It made me so blazing angry I walked away. I wanted to scream, to curse a long stream of bad words and let go. Let go of all this anger, tension, the need to play a role, and for fifteen minutes, be free.

 

Be free and vent. Say everything I think, feel, want, don't want, but with all the eyes on me it would become prime time gossip and I wasn't down for that either.

 

I walked away. Walked as if I had a place to go, as if I had something to do. I had no place to go, and nothing to do.
The Dubai took care of my kids, me only seeing them a few hours every day, but doing no real 'mom' things. Being mostly an invalid, who even on an erssavi, can't be awake more than sixteen hours or sleep more than nine, while they can go on for twenty four and sleep for twelve. It's like we were different 'species'.

 

I did not belong here. I was human, they weren't. My kids might be half human in the genes but all ZerShaz in the life.

 

I'd walked out of the erssavi, into the crushing gravity, and right over there was a veDak. Like a taxi which had pulled up outside of the airport, waiting for a fare.  I walked over to it, got in, without thinking what or how. It was like on Shalimar when I saw the flying bikes and without thinking jumped on one and began to ride.

 

I wasn't trying to remember anything, thinking anything. I just got into the veDak, vexed to royal card how Daktoy could say; 'It's not your concern', like I was nothing.  As I pulled down the canopy, and went to take off, all I was thinking was how if I had my stunner, I would just shoot him.

 

I get off the planet, for a second think about a suit... but know this flyer has internal atmosphere... so don't worry it.
I smack a course to Beta Mar, tho' I want Zechia. But Beta Mar is closer and I'd have to go through the Sector to get to Zechia any way.

 

Beta Mar had sensible weather and I had houses there.

 

Daktoy had been the centre of my Universe from he abducted me off Beta Mar. He was all there was. Except now.
Now I was so into flying, marvelling at it, at how wonderful I felt, How light and strong and healthy and good I felt flying away from ZerShaz.

 

Flying myself alone to somewhere I wanted to be. To a human world, where I could fill hours with leisure stuff, waste of time stuff, okay, but still, music and art and dance and drama and games and the sun and the beach!

 

Oh how I wanted a beach! And people. People that looked a little like me, who spoke English and lived human life. Just to see them, to hear them, to be lost in a crowd.

 

All of a sudden I wanted to be with my kind. All of a sudden I realised I had a 'kind'.

 

Maybe when you love someone so much they fill every corner of your being you don't notice the differences, but the second that love waivers, the second you realise you don't exist except as a sixth finger or third armpit in someone else's life, you suddenly know...you don't belong.

 

I don't belong.

 

I could be on Beta Mar, be outside, in the sun, in the air be in the sea, be alive.

 

 

The New Famous Lady

THE NEW FAMOUS LADY

PAULA SIGN
BETA MAR

 

I was more nervous at this 'debut' than my inaugural.  

 

Having nothing to lose, ignorant of what I'd gain, I'd invented a name, slapped it on a script, hoping it would be acceptable, if it hadn't been, I'd consider it no more than making a bad cup of tea.  

 

Two decades later, again at that juncture, only this time, having known adulation, I knew what failure cost. I wasn't using 'my' name, but Paula Sign. If 'she' didn't work, there were other identities to be invented. But I desired no second tries.

 

I hadn't failed:

 

               "UNHAPPENING, by unknown, Paula Sign,
                     came across my workspace threatening
                     to be unsettling.

 

               "This cleverly written small work, tells the
                     story of a ballerina who provokes a flirtation
                     with a ZeSha."

 

               "It leaves one with uncertainty, yet a feeling
                     that each word was weighed, inserted, as if
                     in poem, to force the alien nature of a book;
                     tragedy, not romance."

 

               "Perhaps it's size causes one's sense of vertigo,
                     for it ought be twice its' length, yet, it holds all
                     ingredients, sparsely dispensed as to hint, not state."

 

I accepted the praise, appreciated the attention. As Tony was behind it, I was invited on a chatterbox. 

 

It appeared that I was sleeping my way up. I was the woman who shared Tony's bed on occasion. The fact the work had been commissioned by the iSaz, Tony his facilitator, not mine, had to be hidden.  

 

Childishly, I was nervous before the interview. The reputation of the moderator made 'shark' seem complimentary.
Tony decided to be with me. I didn't know if that were good or bad. It proved I was his bedable, yet protected me from sharking. Protected the work from sharking; that was the key issue.

 

As Tony was so important, no rating gobbler would wish to unfriend him. I could assume insulation. 

 

Having lived the Palla Stavo's life, having been interviewed, talked about, imitated and spoofed, at the center of the literary circle on Earth, I was far more experienced than my nemesis. I was not a giddy 'unknown' but one who'd been within the bell jar a long time.

 

I think my personality, that long developed image I wished to create, had 'taken.'  No longer Palla with her very black hair and extremely white face, all angles, but Paula, with her tousled brown hair and natural face.

 

Smiles came easily, pensiveness a second choice, a bit of humble, a bit of confidence, and so, yes, I was successful. Paula was not only talented, but unlike Palla, likeable.

 

The novelette was sucessful. It had danced about Beta Mar.  It could have been published sooner if I hadn't had to delete and rework; such as the bedroom scene being removed.

 

Now it was time for the holo. It had to be holo.

 

The purpose for which I was taken from Zechia was to create a unifying bit of entertainment which made the Zees palatable to those they colonized.

 

It would, were I not connected to Tony, be difficult to gain backing for such a 'collaborationist' work and impossible to solicit ZeSha for the roles required.

 

As Tony had the financial capability to have published it on his own, but the connections to have the most revered publishing company hungry to please him, and as the iSaz was the 'promoter' of the work, I was certain to get the ZeSha I needed.

 

Once the book was image there would be no talk of Paula's sexual connection. Screenwriting was my greatest talent. I had the eye for the visual, a director's finesse.

 

Palla Stavos had not been a writer, she had been able to create holos and 2ds of perfection. 

 

Minette Mola's walk from the house in 'A Baby Cries' was

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 20.01.2022
ISBN: 978-3-7554-0586-3

Alle Rechte vorbehalten