The Chronicles of a Galactic Diplomat

Chapter Four - Widowed Mist

After mapping out the coordinates to Oxa’s land we sped out from Alhara down a road only my driver could see.

“Mr. Daud -” I began, with butterflies in my stomach as we flew down through unexpected dips in the landscape.

“Please!” he interjected. “Call me Danish! I never was one for prefixes."

I relaxed into a smile, “Alright, Danish, I’m curious about what you said back in town, about how if the Alharans weren’t spitting at the sight of me they’d be spitting at the sight of you?"

Danish took a breath. “I reckon it’s because my family and I immigrated from the Red-Bone territory. We came over when I was just a young’n, however, it can take a couple of centuries to be fully assimilated into a small community like Alhara...” A slow grin crept across his face as he continued. “No worries! I'll patiently wait for the welcome wagon to swing by and chuck a goodie basket at my desiccated bones!"

I couldn't help but stare in amusement at my new friend. His unflagging sense of humor was a buoy of self-preservation and another stunning example of humankind’s adaptivity in the face of hardship.

Our conversation reached a natural lull and I slipped back into thought.

Looking inward, I couldn’t help but feel a little irked recalling the recent interchanges I’d had with the bigoted Alharans and the hypocritical display of Danish’s sister.

“Why treat each other this way?” I mused aloud. “Are you not all human?!”

“Madam,” He replied a little more soberly, “you just asked an unanswerable question and honestly, I respect you the more for it.”

I squinted out over the desert. The terrain had begun to change; it was rockier with a sporadic layer of olive-toned scrub. In the distance, I could see the silhouette of an unimpressive structure nestled at the base of a red hill.

We slowly came to a stop and I looked at the coordinates again. This was indeed Oxa’s land. Danish killed the screaming engine and the crushing silence overtook my senses... I regained my deafened hearing only to notice that it wasn’t missing much. There was no activity or sound besides the gentle rush of some shivering ground cover.

“HELLO!” Danish’s echo boomeranged off distant rocky buttes.

A sudden gust of wind moaned as it passed through the rickety structure nearby.

A spooky sensation washed over my body like a sudden cold rain and I looked to Danish and spoke frankly: “Something is wrong,” I said in a low tone and was startled slightly at the sound of Oxa’s shack door that had now begun to swing and slam stupidly in the arid breeze.

“I feel Widowed Mist.”

“ ‘Widow's Mist?'” He misquoted. “Is that Sellissian speak for ‘creepy haunted ranch?’”

“There is no such thing as ghosts. At least, not in that sense.” I stated confidently.

“Hm..” He was unconvinced and I could feel his anxiety.

“Widowed Mist is what we call the remaining electrical energy of a deceased being,” I explained.

“Oh... Is that all..?” He replied sarcastically.

The rocky earth twisted beneath his boots as he turned abruptly toward the truck bed. Tugging loose a fistful of dusty canvas he revealed an old shotgun which he skillfully loaded.

“Do you think that’s necessary?” I asked with concern.

Danish shrugged and headed for the shack. “I think I’d rather have it than not.” He put simply.

“Especially if you're gonna start seeing dead people.”

“I believe you have misunderstood ...” I insisted. But he had already marched his way out of earshot.

Approaching the shack we slowed our pace and Danish slid to the side of the entrance and knocked on the wide plank siding. Nothing stirred.

“This is Ingot Peaceable of the Sellissian Court of Peaceable,” I announced to whoever or whatever may be listening. “If you’re in there, Oxa, I wish you to know that my visit is on behalf of your mate, Aura.”

When there was no answer I nodded to Danish. He caught the flinging door and after a quick glance, went inside. “The coast is clear,” he reported several seconds later. “More like cleared out,” he added.

I stepped inside.

“I noticed that.” I acknowledged. “What happened here?“

”Either he packed up and took off, or...”

He trailed off and looked thoughtful as he mindlessly kicked at a sand drift that had accumulated on the floor. “Nah,” he argued with himself. “If Bush-Raiders got to him there’s no way they’d leave all of that new fencing that’s been put up." He pointed out the door at the miles of fencing that lined the property. “I’d reckon that fencing was the only really valuable thing here. And, I don’t see any ransom notes in case they were after money that way. ”

I tried my best to listen to Danish’s commentary, however, I was struggling with strong internal distractions.

He looked into my face and read it apprehensively. “You still feel it.”

"I do,” I replied with equal apprehension. “It’s gotten stronger...”

We both looked at our surroundings as if a dead body would suddenly appear and jumped suddenly when something began to scuffle in the shadows. In the next instant a large lizard, standing about a foot tall with ashen scales slowly ambled out of the shadows and headed for the open door. Danish hastened its departure by sliding the creature with his boot.

“There’s your validation,” said Danish

“How so?”

“That’s a Reaper. They’re only that bold when there’s death nearby.” Danish eyed the reptile warily. “They’re scavengers. They don’t care who your daddy is; if you're dead-they’ll eat ya! Yes ma'am, I’d say it’s time we head back. Sun’s fixin’ to set and I’d rather not be out here after dark.” He turned to where I had been, but I had slipped out and was tracking down that lizard!