The Collection Vol. 1



  The Collection

  Compiled & Arranged

  by Sam Whittaker

  Copyright 2012 Sam Whittaker

  Brinks’ Edge

  Ryan Dicken

  Brinks’ Edge waited, hiding behind an asteroid. The ship was an amalgamation of numerous junked spaceships. Undamaged sections of ships hulls, computer systems, weapons and other components had been welded together into a completely new ship. The mixture of hulls created a...unique...shape, and if painted brown it might have been mistaken for an asteroid itself. As it was, the ship was not a single uniform color. The hull pieces still wore their original colors and most would say it was the ugliest ship they had ever set eyes on. However, to those who called it home, any ‘normal’ ship was boring by comparison and they wouldn’t have asked for anything different.

  * * *

  A cavernous room, located in the center of the ship, had previously been the garden room of a battle-damaged Tré suncruiser. Its purpose remained unchanged and now supplied the Brinks’ Edge crew with inexpensive fresh food. Being masters of horticulture, the Tré had designed the room to perfection. It was complete with a fully functioning and integrated semi-automated support system which could be used for growing almost any type of plant-life imaginable, from standard varieties of fruits and vegetables, to exotic species from numerous worlds. The current selection on Brinks’ Edge included two meat plants--which no one but Villa would try.

  Holding the clippers carefully, Villa slithered his long snake body up the trunk of a joru tree. He coiled himself around a branch and snipped the stem of a dying leaf, catching it with his other hand. Uncoiling, he hung from the branch, lowering himself closer to a bucket under the tree. With a flick of his arm, he tossed the leaf, watching with dismay as the air caught it and began to direct it away from the bucket. As it floated away, a translucent blue hand gently brushed through the leaf, redirecting it into the bucket. Looking up, he saw Voslari Awn hovering by the tree. “If you ate, I would offer you some fruit,” he said, “I know jori are your favorite.”

  Voslari was a tangible soul of the gasht people, a translucent embodiment of her essence without a physical form. Voslari smiled, “I know you would, you’re so kind.” Coiling himself around the branch again, Villa continued his task searching for more bad leaves. Voslari floated up beside him, her blue glow reflected off of his green scales. She caressed a leaf, watching it move like a slight breeze had passed by. “Is gardening a common activity on Surpa?”

  He paused and looked at her for a moment. “Some tend to the meat plants, but mostly, no.”

  She suppressed a grimace. “I see....Before my body died, I enjoyed eating all varieties of food; that’s all I remember from my physical existence.”

  “Your body was nineteen years old when it died, right?” Villa asked.

  Voslari nodded.

  “Why don’t you find a person who’s willing to let you fuse with their soul? Perhaps your memories will even return.” Villa replied. He slithered to another branch, pausing a moment to glance at the door.

  She followed him, floating higher to meet his gaze. “I...I’m afraid to meld with a soul.” She didn’t speak for a moment and he waited, continuing his search. “I’ve never told anyone this...” she let the implied meaning hang in the air.

  “Of course.” Villa said.

  Voslari nodded. She knew that he was a trustworthy person; almost everyone came to him to get his advice and talk out their troubles. She looked down, “You may not remember, but before the Captain rescued me, I had spent over two hundred years in space, alone, on the derelict ship, Dri’oc.” She paused. “It took a hundred years, but finally I couldn’t resist the loneliness anymore; I gave in to despair, becoming a raging lunatic.”

  Villa made a noncommittal noise and snipped another stem, which fell nicely into the bucket.

  “I tore through the ship blind with rage, creating hurricane speed winds, but of course it didn’t help. I would have killed myself if it were possible.” She looked at him, searching his face for a reaction. Not finding one, she continued, “My people call it, um...” She chose the words in their common language that best fit the name her people had given it. “‘Soul Fever’ I think, is an accurate translation. I had lost all inhibitions, or capability to have inhibitions, and I tried to force a fusing with the human man who appeared on the ship.”

  “A man appeared? What do you mean? Did he dock with the Dri’oc?”

  “No, he simply was on the ship, then a minute later he wasn’t. His soul was so bright because of my fever, it was irresistible. All I knew was that I wouldn’t be alone for the few precious moments when the melding was solidifying.”

  “But if you had melded, it would have resulted in a freshly combined soul inhabiting his body, solving nothing because you would still be alone.” Villa looked at her. “Without edible food you would have died and become a tangible soul again...”

  “Right, I wasn’t thinking.”

  “Did he say why he was there?”

  “No, but I think he wanted me to remember something. It’s cloudy now, I don’t remember what he said. Fortunate for him, he was in the engine room where I can’t go.” She stopped again and bit her lip, wanting to say more but not. Looking up at Villa, Voslari decided to say it anyway. “He knew my name. How could he know who I was? I had never seen him and no one had been on the ship in a hundred years.

  “He knew your name?” This intrigued Villa, but he didn’t say more; that wasn’t the point of her story. “So, he left and you were alone again?” Villa prompted.

  Voslari nodded. “Only when Mrs. Brinks found me did the fever begin to slip away. Despite being alone for so many years, existing as a tangible soul feels more right to me than having a body; my former existence is a fleeting dream.”

  Villa stopped and watched her for a minute. “Two hundred years is a long time to be alone. I can’t imagine what I would do if I were like you and were incapable of sleep or even unable to shut my eyes.” He clipped a leaf and when it began to go astray, she guided it into the bucket. “I think it’s only natural that you’re afraid to meld; most people are afraid of dying, and melding would be almost like dying from your tangible soul existence.” Again, he looked at the door, then went back to trimming.

  “Yes!” Relief flooded through her at his understanding. “Maybe I do want to meld, but I guess I am afraid I will lose myself in the process. Would we still be friends after? There’s no way to know. And what if I don’t like it? Suicide is anathema to us; I would not want to be a ghost for all of eternity.”

  Villa thought for a moment before responding. “You will change after you meld, there’s no arguing with that; the melding of both of your personalities alone will change you a lot. But that is the way of the gasht.” Voslari nodded in agreement. “Perhaps you shouldn’t be so quick to make that decision. How long does it normally take the gasht to decide which existence they prefer?”

  She was quiet before she spoke. “Two or three meldings.”

  He looked at her more intently. “Consider this: If you don’t ever meld, at least once, will you wonder forever if you should? That in itself might be miserable.” He began perusing the tree once more.

  For a moment she was quiet again, lost in thought, mulling over his words. “Thank you, Villa.” She smiled. “I hadn’t planned to talk about that, but I’m glad I did; I had come here to talk about the garden.”

  “I’m glad you did as well.” A thought occurred to him. “Research the gasht philosopher, Romaso Vel.” Glancing at the door again, he sighed. “Jordan is supposed to come for a lesson; he’s not usually late.”

  Floating away, Voslari said, “I’ll go, I’m sure he’ll be here soon. Tha
nks again, Villa.”

  Villa joked, “If it helps you decide, remember that we have delectable cookies.” Voslari laughed as she passed through the floor.

  He flicked another leaf and watched it land beside the bucket.