Lectures [The Navigator Part 4]

It's another Fri-Wednesday Special! This time we're returning back to the Navigator. This is probably my favorite series to work on at the moment, I just love the setting, the mystery of my character, and the struggle. It's in a sense a personal story because for my first time in my life I'm having to deal with a completely new lifestyle and setting, but I don't want to bore you with my life's story so here's a fictional story about a man in a new life on a completely new planet. Enjoy!

 

Previous Chapter: Lifelines [Part 3] 

The Beginning: The Navigator Part 1 

Curiosity is one of the most useful characteristics ever evolved, without it mankind would still be running across the plains of Africa without ever looking up to the stars with the sense of awe wonder. It was the reason why The Navigator could sail from solar system to solar system within the matter of just a few weeks. However curiosity has a negative side-effect too, injury or death.

See a frog that looks really colorful like a pomegranate or freshly picked lime? Do you wonder if it taste just as sweet and juicy at a pineapple? Go ahead and taste it, it can’t be bad just look at the colors! Nope, within one bite you’re on the ground gagging on your own throw up dying a poor miserable existence just because you wondered what a frog tasted like. The words of the Ploi̱gós echoed across time from a distant memory. So many years had passed he had forgotten her face, but he remembered the way she stood higher than everybody around her, even though she was a few inches shorter than average, and her words were full of wisdom with hints of arrogance. She deserved every bit it.

Never, even once, test the waters of the unknown with your own physical self or you will die a miserable naive existence like tuk-tuk and the frog. You’re all here to navigate, the art of taking in information of your surroundings then using said information to look stuff up in charts and then making educated guesses. Never make a guess without gathering data of your surroundings, and then applying that data to others. It is the very reason humankind is where we are today. And that applies a hundred times more to survival instances. I don’t give a fuck if the waters look as blue as the flares of Zeta Puppis, don’t drink it unless you’re sure there is no contaminatanimates. If you see a creature on a H-congruous world, you might assume it’s fine to cook up because it’s carbon based and aerobic like us, but remember that frog that kill tuk-tuk?

This is why the Q-tool is one of the most important things ever invented, let me show you why….

The Navigator switched the Q-tool on, rings of emerald circled around his arm verifying it was him. Once the handshake was complete it was off to business. A red laser shot out of the gadget, hovering above the central disk a readout of the chemical compounds detected within the laser’s focus. He moved the laser across the tendril as slowly as steadily as he could fighting the very weight of his muscles, like a old and tired machine.

Your first catch is going to be completely inedible, always. Not because it might kill you, but because you are going to dissect that creature down to its very molecule, leave no chemical compound untouched, I want the creature to look like a cattle mutilation that has been mutilated again and again and then left to rot in the sun for a few days only to be mutilated a few more times. I don’t care how hungry you are, as you all may remember the human body can live for three weeks without taking a single bite so you’ll have plenty of fat to burn, you don’t fuck around when dealing with an unknown species.

Twenty minutes passed before he was finished with the surface, the tendril was mostly inedible, not poisonous just little to no nutritional value except as a fiber. Taking his knife he began dissecting it, one layer at a time.

Two hours had passed, his ration remained by his side untouched. He finally had reached the suction cup, still clinging on the rock even when ninety-five percent of its body was ripped to carefully calculated shreds. He figured he could let the cup slide, he was growing bored of this analysis, he already found three parts that were edible and that’s all he needed. A long muscle fiber that made up the layer right below the skin had a similar chemical structure to that of terrestrial squids, a starfish shaped organ that he assumed to be the central nervous system was next on the list, and then the skin he could use to wrap it all up in like a bacon-wrapped jalapeno.

He removed the suction cup from the rock, the laser switched off. Where the creature hung for its dear life (and death) was a barren spot, completely at loss from the moss that used to inhabit it. Small fibers not much thicker than a strand of hair dangled from the suction cup, it must be how the tendril fed he thought. He now had a hypothesis on how to catch the tendril, his work was done. One step closer to being the next Magellan.

An hour of rest and gagging on the last of his ration had passed when he decided it was time for round two. His arm had plenty of time to rest, and he was ready for the second half, and this time he had a secret weapon, a suction cup.

The suction cup was fastened to a new rock, completely barren of moss so a tendril wouldn’t snatch it from him, this rock was heavier just the perfect weight to apply pressure to grasp on rocks or ice, he made sure by catching a few rocks on land. He was ready to get the hell away from here once and for all.

It doesn’t matter how good your tools are, if you can’t throw a makeshift grappling hook properly you’ll be stuck on the shorelines for a while. His tools were better, but the added weight made the throws equally more difficult. It was reassuring that his accuracy looked better, most of his shots would splash around the general region of the iceberg.

One, two, three throw, he would think and occasionally mutter under his breath. It was reminiscent of his career.

Accuracy, the Ploi̱gós’ memory continued to lecture on, is the number one rule in navigation, the slightest initial calculations can throw off your entire course delaying your trek, or getting yourself fired. Unlike the navigators from long ago on Earth there’s nothing stopping a spaceship with the mass of a city. Sure recalculations can be done, and are performed every day of the trek. A good navigator is measured by the amount of readjustments in a single trek, the longer the trek and the small the adjustments the better, simple as that. Once any of you can make it halfway across the galaxy with no adjustment will you be able to achieve the rank of Ploi̱gós.

This is how the Navigator felt right now, the initial conditions have to be ninety-nine-point-ninety-nine to a hundred percent correct, and right now he was feeling about at sixty-five percent. He continued to throw.

However balancing logic and primitive instincts isn’t easy, especially on a tired mind and a fatigued body, the frustration seeped from somewhere deep within his brain stem overriding his frontal lobe and flooded his body from neck to feet. The frustration leaked into the their calm frozen air through screams of pain and rage. Why is this so fucking hard? He cried and cursed with every throw. His shots got flying way over the ice. The consciousness of what made him a navigator, the very essence of his life, was being evicted by a part of the brain that should've been left back on Earth.

    The human, he swore the Ploi̱gós spoke as the Navigator overshot an iceberg again, just a little bit too far behind and way over where the ice drifted. He swore the Ploi̱gós spoke more in his head than she ever did in lecture, is a curious creature. No lifeform has conquered the stars like we have....

    The navigator took a rest, another iceberg was a few meters off he could spare his energy for a few moments. He took a deep breath and recounted the lecture.

    …. all observed life has destroyed itself through war, eroding its own environment, or wasting all their fuel elsewhere before reaching the stars. As far as we’re concerned, humans are the only species to ever leave their own solar system. That was eons ago, and now we’ve conquered the entire Orion Arm. If we can do that then the universe is practically ours, manifest destiny in its rawest form.

    The iceberg was within throwing distance now. His head still clouded in frustration, the only thing keeping him sane at the moment was the Ploi̱gós’ memory. A simpler time when he was ambitious and naive, before he had been rejected by the Expanse time and time again. He prepared his suction cupped rock and carried on.

    Now can anybody tell me why humankind is the anomaly?

    He decided to try something different, instead of just throwing he began to spin the rope above his head, it was like a small rocky body spinning about his massive coat’s gravitational pull. It continued to spin upwards as it picked up speed.

    Some say it’s luck. Others say it’s our passion for exploring. Generals say its our desire to conquer. Scientist say we’re curious. Economists think it’s because we had a great amount of resources. The few religious sects out there thank God or Cthulu or whatever they worship. Nobody knows for sure, we’ve seen all of this before on other planets, yet we’re the only ones up here. So why us?

    The rock was far above his head now, the iceberg a few meters upstream still. He counted his breadths. One, two, three...

    I have seen humans on every habitable planet from here to Sagittarius A, and have observed those less fortunate societies die as we roam the skies. And you know what I think is the reason why?

    The iceberg was near now, it was smaller than the others. He wound up the throw, faster and faster. fifteen, sixteen, seventeen,...

    It’s because we’re irrational creatures. Now you might be saying that every creature is, it’s just nature. Irrationality is important for survival after all, reflexes are important for times we can’t think. But there is something fundamentally different about the human brain than any other.

    He pulled his arm back, twenty-six, twenty-seven,, and threw it forward. Twenty-eight, twenty-ni…. The grappling hook flew through the air just like it always had so many times before, he his hopes slipped away with the rope.

    During times of irrationality, when our brainstem takes complete control of our minds and like a ghost of a caveman, we may want to fight whomever is near us, snap at our loved ones, murder, or rape.

    He saw it before the rock ever got there, the arm was too high it was going to overshoot and then he was going to lay down and wish there was something near by to punch.

    But those who actually act on those impulses are a low percentage, no matter how many drugs we fill our brains up with we have on average an astounding amount of restraint on our brainstem. More than any other alien life form. So what is it?

    The iceberg drifted near the rope’s trajectory. That was when he saw the solution!

    It’s that no matter how angry we get at the universe, we can take a few moments break, relax, come back to the problem and see it with different eyes.

    The rock had already arched over the iceberg, but that didn’t mean it was over. Infact it was best it did. He yanked back on the rope, shifting the flight path back towards the shore. It flew until he heard the satisfying sound of it sliding, Shhh, clack, and, stttt. He pulled the rope, it felt nice and taut. The suction cup had gotten grips with the ice! He let out a huge laugh filling up the desolate landscape, he was still coming to grips with the reality of his situation. He laughed the entire time he pulled. Finally the Inner Circle was conquered, he was getting the hell out of it.

Necrosia

 Oh man life is getting busy right now, and I love it! Call me a bit of a workaholic but if I'm not doing something I will go crazy. When I'm not at work a lot of my time is spent with outside organizations, such as two running clubs, and a Toastmasters branch down here. I even took up the leadership role as Vice President of Public Relations which is going to be fun! Now on to the blog.

As you know we are on a new format now, something I'm really excited about. So as my debut story upon this new format is a sequel to Swamp Eyes, a side story within the greater story I'm working on outside of this blog known as Project Fields. This edition she is arriving at Hetrago, a misogynistic civilization located within the valley.This is why happens when you piss off a demi-goddess who wonders upon your civilization.

Part 1: Swamp Eyes

“Hetrago, the land of the riches,” she says as she walks into the valley, the stone wall encasing the city is still a few miles west of her. “Hetrago, the only place upon this godforsaken wasteland who have some sense of civility, except for the misogyny. Fuckin’ fuckbags.” She speaks to the dry air as if she were delivering a sermon; the only life sentient enough to pick up on her speech lied within a guard post a few meters upwards on the valley slope. She is uninvited here, like everywhere else upon this world. What were they going to do? Tell a demi-god she couldn’t stay a few nights? That would be like telling Zeus he could no longer throw lightning because it was a ‘danger’ to the Earth, or more so like begging God to never unleash the great flood. You can’t argue with nature. A small squadron of guards advances from the outpost, a routine inspection of travelers. A routine until they notice how her hair dances in the wind like the wildfire fed with the spirits of the damned; and her stare bright as emeralds gleaming beneath a supernova.

That is when they stop, and draw their rifles. The commanding officer readies his handheld transceiver, along with his .75.

The air is filled with the soft humming static of the transceiver, a comforting white noise in the silence of death. The occasional panting is heard as tiny red misquotes take turns tangoing across her torso moving at the rhythm of their hearts. A glare of a sniper strobes across her line of sight as if to add flare to the light show. They’re trying to scare her, she finds it cute.

Before any of the guards say anything she scrambles across her memory banks to recall which nickname she collected here, it’s been a while, a seventy-five years long while. Is it Malicious Mallory? Nah, they’re smarter than that. The Risin’ Demon? Hmm, maybe. Or -

“Necrosia, what is your business here?” A the commanding officer speaks up, his fingers more tense around the transceiver than his pistol. His face is aged both by time and the sun, given his age he must have been just a boy the last time she came by.

“Necrosia, I love it!” She says with the grace of a hyena. “How could I forget a beautiful name? Say it again!”

They say nothing, the older guard retreats a step back. The static on the transceiver dissipates.

“You,” she says pointing to a younger guard, probably no older than thirty and no less than a year on the force based on the fairness of his skin, “what do the people call me here?”

“Ne- Ne - Necrosia,” he says withdrawing his gun away from her. Such terror in his voice, she finds it adorable. This must be his first time he has been intimated by somebody without an extra limb between their legs.

“Again!” She says her hands rais into the air like a conductor.

“Necorsia.”

“I can’t hear you.”

“NECROSIA,” she can almost hear him shit his pants this time, her name is the fucking brown note to these people. Adding more to the irony of the situation this young guard is nearly the prefect solider based on appearance. His is clean shaven, his shoulders wide like a brick wall, chest accentuated by the armor she bets his pecks could withstand the blow of a .22 easily, and whatever muscles his body couldn’t fit within his torso extended to his neck. His body was ideal for both picking up any woman he chose in Hetrago, and beating them into submission if they didn’t do a simple chore like cooking or sucking his dick. And yet here he was panicking before a hundred-and-thirty-two pound girl. She finds it arousing.

She soaks in the moment like a sponge, then calls out to the crowd.

“Now all of you!”

“NECROSIA,” they obey like all god-fearing church choirs should.

“Ahhh, I like the sound of that, way better than Swamp Eyes. Now you were going to say something child?” She locks eyes with the commander.

At first he says nothing, he wants to go back home to his mommy whom she may or may not have spared on her last visit, she feels it in the air and by the way he hugs the transceiver. Either way she would be dead by now given his age. Finally he speaks up.

“W-what brings you to Hetrago, Necrosia?”

“Oh you know,” she says her green eyes locked upon his browns irises, “I’m sure your legends say something about me being a roving beast of the wildlands who comes here every so often to wreck terror upon your precious society, maybe because it will get your wives and children to behave, or maybe because that’s the way things are. Both of which I feel flattered you think of me that way, but I assure you, you can withdraw your weapons. I am not here for death and destruction, honestly I’ve become quite bored of it.”

She pauses waiting for them to respect her wish, and none obey.

“You call yourself soliders? You can’t even take a fucking command, go ahead open fire upon me, I’m pretty sure your friends in Gel did ohhh so much with killing off Swamp Eyes. I’m sure you heard the stories. If not here’s an abridged version: they didn’t! I was going to spare them, afterall they were oh so kind to let me have a few drinks, but they should of stopped me after my first bar. You know me and alcohol.”

The guards silently consult each other then lay their weapons. A sniper is still focused upon her, she decides to let them have their false safety. She gives the young guard her signature wink test after he lays his arms down, he only flinches a little. She gives him a C+.

“So what do you come here for?” The commander speaks again for the squad.

“Business, mostly.” She says then catches the young guard’s eyes with hers and waves, “And maybe a little bit of pleasure.” He looks towards both sides like he was trying to avoid an awkward wave when one waves at somebody nears them, always leading to an awkward returned wave. His legs almost give when he realizes the truth.

“Now tell me, commander?”

“Collenwhealth,” the old guard says.

“Mister Collenwhealth,” she speaks flamboyantly. “Would you kindly please escorte a woman my stature to the city gates? I hear you have Rickshaws for women such as myself who simply cannot walk on their own for just a few feet, I don’t think my thin and weak legs can handle a few more miles upon my journey.”

“Why would I ever-”

“I’m helpless can’t you see?” Nacrosia’s legs begin to tremble. “I need a big strong man to protect me, as your culture says clearly within its doctrine, ‘A woman is incapable of going anywhere by herself outside of her master’s property, due to her weaker physique and valuable ability to produce heirs.’ Now how my uterus affects my ability maneuver on my own I don’t understand, but I didn’t write the doctrine. I just believe in respecting other culture’s customs.

“Now fetch me a rickshaw please, my legs are about to give-way under my empty womb’s weight.”

Collenwhealth points at one of his men then the outpost. The guard begins to leave when Necrosia interrupts. “No, not him. I want you.” She says pointing at the young guard. Like a fly being swatted at he dashes away towards the outpost, his rifle thudding on the soil stirring a cloud of burnt orange dust behind his pace. She watches him the entire way, not to make sure he obeys her, she knows he will, but to admire his rear.

“Yep,” she says to no one but herself, “just a little bit of pleasure.”

Blue Peril: LUNA

I decided to create another blog project titled Plenty of Hours, a project I'm doing to get myself out there in my new life in a different city. It'll be a blog dedicated to random projects I'm working on, mostly because I realized I'm better at fulfilling projects when I have a public forum to post them in (a la Nakedly Sane). Currently I'm using the blog for a project I call Shuffle My Day, where I use the website Shuffle My Life to give me random things to add onto my daily routine to just to make it more interesting. So far I've only posted once, but I will try to post five days a week at the least. You can read my first entry and my attempt at comedy here.

So we return to Blue Peril back to James as he explores life outside of the Millennia compound, a cult that believes that life in the 21st century was the best time for humanity and that everything after it is all a novelty, the Amish of the future.

            “Welcome to the Armstrong City, the Moon’s first and largest colony, how may I be of service for you today?” The woman said, except she wasn’t a woman, or a human, or even real at all. James was perplexed; he thought he’d seen it all, hover cars, augmented reality glasses, petabyte thumb drives, and not to mention the spaceship he just took from Earth. It was too much to take in over the course of a few days, and this ‘woman’ who just appeared out of nowhere from the three cylinders resting on the ground, what he could only assume was her projector, was the straw that broke his metaphorical culturally inept camel’s back. He only reaction was to not react.

            “Hmm,” she said, “You don’t seem to have an ID chip or card on you, making my system hard to determine your preferences. If your chip or card is broken I can recommend to you a clinic that repairs them for cheap.”

            “Uhh, no thanks,” James said, he looked at her like a baby does when it’s trying to understand the world around it. She was mostly opaque, but upon further inspection he could see through her, like frosted glass. She was also very attractive, smooth skin that was neither brown nor white but a strange mixture of the two. Her eyes were blue and she wore a black-and-white dress with crescent moon in the middle.

            “Very well then, I highly recommend you get yours repaired soon to prevent any confusion at any of our data terminals. Would you like to set-up a temporary voice activated account for the time being?”

            “Sure,” James said. “But first who are you?”

            “I am LUNA, personal travel assistant for Armstrong City. You can find my stations at any major or minor points of interest.”

            “Interesting, nice to meet you Luna,” James said sticking out his hand then immediately pulling it back realizing how big an idiot he must have looked to the others in the terminal.

            “Very good, can you say your full name for me?”

This was the moment he’d been waiting for, a moment to leave his old name behind and begin anew. Except for the fact that he never put in the time to think of a name, so he said the first set of names that came to his mind: “Luke Ash Pilgrim” Star Wars, Pokemon and a clichéd last name, really brain? He thought

            “Thank you Mr. Pilgrim, and your place of residence?”

            “Mars,” he said thinking it would sound cool and exotic.

“Wănshàng hăo! Nǐ xǐhuān zhōngguó de háishì yīngwén de?”

And only to regret it immediately, what language was that even?

“Come again?” He asked the holograph.

“Would English be better suited for you Mr. Pilgrim?”

“Yes, please I like to immerse myself within the local culture when I travel.”

What the hell am I trying to do? Impress a fucking hologram?

“Would you like to add that to your profile?”

“Add what?”

“Your preference to immerse yourself while traveling,” LUNA said.

“Sure,” James now Luke said. There was a tapping on his shoulder, he looked behind him. It was a man probably in his mid thirties wearing a suit with a orange tie.

“Sorry for interrupting sir but I’m in a hurry to get a hotel, can you give me a moment?”

James looked back at LUNA then at the man; what a dick for interrupting his conversation with her.

“Welcome back Mr. Royal,” Luna said. “Will you be staying at the Collins Hotel as usual?”

“Not this time,” he said, “I’m on the other side of town this time at the Tycho resort.”

“Your cab is on its way, wait in port A lot 77.”

“Thank you,” he said looking at James, and went on his way. It took James a moment to realize he wasn’t thanking Luna but him.

He turned back around to see Luna had disappeared back into her tubes, like a genie in a bottle she granted Royal his wish for a cab and then retreated. In her place was the same crescent logo she wore on her dress.

“Well shit,” James said grabbing his bag when Luna popped back up. He jumped back again, the luggage slipped from his hands and fell, more like drifted, all the way to the ground.

“Welcome back Mr. Pilgrim, how may I help you today? Your profile hasn’t fully been developed yet, would you like the directions to the ID clinic?”

“No thanks,” he said. He wanted to talk to her more, get to know what the life of a hologram was like, but he decided against it. There was just too much to take in, he’d have to get some rest before anything new. “Can you get me a hotel, like a cheap one?”

“Sure, what part of town would you prefer?”

“The cheapest,” he said.

“I’ve registered you to a Motel 51 in the Aldrin district. Is that fine?”

“Yes,” he said picking up his luggage. “Can I get a cab there too?”

“Your cab is on its way, wait in port A lot 73 please.” She paused then asked, “would you like to pay for your hotel here or at the counter?”

“Counter, can you direct me to my spot?”

“Just follow the green arrow on the floor and you will arrive straight at your spot.”

“What green arro-“ he said looking around cutting himself off when he saw the arrow materialize on the ground right below his feet. He stepped forward and it moved forward, then back it followed him too, then he jumped left and right, the arrow stay at the same fixed speed pointing the same direction as if it were tethered between him and his destination.

“Would you prefer anything else Mr. Pilgrim?”

“No thanks,” he said attempting to fool the arrow by pacing in circles, he had no luck.

“Enjoy your stay here in Armstrong City,” she said.

“Thanks,” James looked back at where she stood; she had disappeared once again into her bottle.

He surrendered to the arrow and began following it through the terminal. There was a lot to take in about his new life.

The Inner Circle (The Navigator part 2)

 As Sean explained, we have a new series we're working on (currently unnamed, so we'll just call it The Navigator/ Birth Once Again Series for the time being). My side of this tale is a continuation of one of my older stories, The Navigator. Stranded upon a freezing world he is challenged not only physically but mentally as he heads north, where he suspects the planet's tropics lie. I hope you enjoy the story as much as I enjoyed writing it.

The Navigator Pt. 1

            Q-tool strapped tightly upon his wrist, P789 standard handgun (more commonly known as the Helix) strapped to his belt, antenna pack pulled tightly against his back, space blanket and four days left worth of water and rations nestled together in the pack’s pockets along with the water filter, a rope twenty-five meters long dangled below the pack coiled up like a snake, survival knife loosely sheathed just in case, and flint and steel beneath the knife. It was everything he could salvage from his escape pod, well everything he could carry on him at least. He had to leave behind the portable shelter in place of the antenna pack, an inflatable pillow in place of the water filter, and the shovel for his knife, there was even a portable entertainment system on board, just in case the survivors got bored waiting for the rescue crews; luxury liners would do anything to make their passengers feel comfortable even while stranded. The Navigator was a practical man, no need for the extra baggage for just a few notches more comfort, well except for the box of chocolate, nothing wrong with comfort food he thought.

            Ten days ago he made the decision of what to bring with him upon the dark-frozen waste. He would have no idea it had been ten days if it wasn’t for his Q-tool’s clock, he hadn’t seen any trace of the planet’s sun, only its enormous moon’s faint reflection of the sun’s light provided him with his only light source, providing the land with a blue light as frigid as the plant itself. The lack of solar light meant either one of two things to him: one he crashed upon the planet’s polar region during the peak of its winter cycle, which made the solution simple, just head north until the climate warms; or two he the planet was tidally locked in with its sun which meant it would be perpetually night here until he crossed the terminator line himself, and unless he chose wisely which direction to take that walk would take him anywhere from a few months to a couple of years years to make. He consider himself an optimist (using statistical data of course), so he placed his bets on winter and not the tidal locking, considering planets that could shelter life and were tidally locked were a one out of sixty-three-million-two-hundred-fifteen-thousand-and-two-hundred-ninty-nine chance. This data is why he loved his Q-tool so much.

            Throughout his course he would stop atop the mountain peaks and make a quick sketch of the landscape using both his hands and the Q-tool’s built in peripheral cameras and radar to judge the distances. It was during these breaks he would each a small square of chocolate, if there was anything enjoyable about being stranded on the surface of a dead world it was this, he felt like an explorer from the older days way before the Great Expansion when humanity only inhabited a small piece of rock on the Sol system. Like Magellan he was exploring uncharted territory and mapping it. But the thrill would shortly vanish after he had finished his chocolate and after that it was back to surviving.

            According to his Q-tool he also learned he had been traveling at a pace of twelve miles a day towards the projected north across the land in which he dubbed the Inner Circle, a total of a hundred and twenty miles of ice and stone. The only glimpse of life he encountered were patches of moss and lichens growing on the underside of small boulders, not even a trace of insects could be found. He knew he was going north because the Q-tool measured the strength of the planet’s magnetic poles and through this data it could determine which hemisphere he was on. It was a good pace until today when he encountered a river colder than the land in which he stood. This land was proving to be his personal hell more and more after each mile, so he named the river Styx.

            Styx was a long river, it stretched long ways as far as the valley ran, and he thought he could almost see the planet’s curvature as it disappeared into the white haze far into the horizon. Originally he thought Styx was a lake or an ocean, when he looked long ways across the shore he couldn’t see where it ended, it disappeared into the haze just like it did when he looked across the shore. It was too wide to turn back and find an alternate route, the river was just too long and wide that a couple miles left or right wouldn’t make a big enough change in the river’s topography; it was now or never if he wanted to head north. Not even his Q-tool could determine if there was land resting on the other side. It wasn’t until the moon’s light reflected at the perfect angle did he see the glaciers across the river, they were so faint and snowy that they blended in with the haze like camouflage. They were so far away, like mountains upon the distance of a desert. Oh how much he would rather be in a desert environment than here!

            But like they teach you in the academy, The Navigator had to make do with what he had, which was defined as anything and everything that can help you in situations such as this, and anything was defined as: tools, people, and the environment.

            He ransacked the landscape for anything that vaguely looked like it could float, but there was nothing, desperation lead him to gathering moss and weaving it together, maybe he could build a raft out of it. After hours of flipping rocks on their bellies he only gathered two handfuls of moss. Tired and freezing he gave up.

            Lying next to the shore he used his flint and steel for his first time igniting the brown fibers of the moss. The moss burnt faintly like a candle, but it was the best sight he had since he crashed in the Inner Circle. The heat was little, but the little warmth it provided gave him more comfort than his chocolate, the smoke rising up from the embers reminded him of the various camping trips he would take with his brother back before he decided to join the academy, and the red light dancing across the rocky shore reminded him of his evenings with Sophie surrounded by candles, when they were young and still loved each other. He lied on his pack, eyes half open looking into the fire. He could die right now and be happy, and then the fire died.

            He stood himself up and cursed at the fire, kicking its ashes into the river as if the fire had wronged him in some way. Which to him it did, it had died during his only moment of comfort. After he had finished spewing every curse worse and phrase he knew into the night’s air did he sit down, panting and sweating beneath his many layers of clothes. The coldness was no longer freezing his skin, but his heart to, maybe death would be an option, but first he’d have to eat.

            He tore a ration open, and chewed on the stale contents of the small silver package. Each ration had enough nutrients and calories for grown man to live on, just was meal a day was enough for one day. You would expect something so healthy to taste decent at least, but to The Navigator it tasted like cardboard sprinkled with basil and garlic to make more palatable. He stared across the river like a scientist or philosopher in deep thought, but he wasn’t thinking he was too fatigued to focus on a simple thought.

            A small iceberg no larger than a car floated by several meters offshore, then another, he could hear the water slosh as the icebergs drifted down the river. An third passed and that’s when his brain began whirling into action. Of course ice floats! He felt like a dumbass for not even thinking of it earlier. He was too tired at the moment to get up, he was looking at sixteen hours of no sleep at the moment, but he knew what he had to do. Tomorrow he could set up a trap to catch the ice and bring it in land, tomorrow he was going ice fishing.

Part 3