The Fished

The last haze of oblivion suddenly evaporated like dew in the bright sun, and Jon sat up abruptly, looking around. The terrain around him was utterly unfamiliar. Soft, thick, low grass, interspersed here and there with small bushes of bright, juicy flowers. On the edges of the clearing were tall palms: reddish-brown trunks topped with tufts of long, pinnate green. Behind the palm trees was a white sandy beach outlined with the azure sea.

It all looked like a travel agency ad. John had spent the last two weeks on the resort planet of Serma-V, so it would have seemed quite logical. Except for one thing: Serma-V was a destination for all the skateboarders, skiers, and other winter sports devotees. The warmest place on Serma-V was the Equatorial Mainland, where summer temperatures rose to minus ten degrees Celsius.

How did he get here?

Jon got to his feet, painfully recalling what he did yesterday. He'd just returned to the hotel from a week-long hike up Sunset Ridge, where his team had built an igloo and hunted ice drakes. After getting some sleep, he went down to the pub, where they had a great meal. Afterward, they took a little walk to clear their heads. Jon remembered: he had fallen a little behind the company, shooting an exceptionally bright growth of luminescent frost-resistant mosses with his video com. He leaned forward, trying to choose a spectacular angle... And then there was oblivion.

Jon patted his pockets, but the com was lost, as well as warm clothes: parka, pants, thermal boots. Jon was barefoot, wearing only light pants and a short-sleeved shirt.

Jon staggered toward the beach. Maybe he'd find something on the beach, notice something, some kind of shelter or the ship they'd brought him here on. There was no doubt that he was on another planet. There were no beaches on Serma-V, and all the seas were covered with a thick layer of eternal ice. He must have been kept in anabiosis. It was common on long flights but could be used for short ones as well.

The warm air and a light breeze from the sea pleasantly refreshed Jon's face. Jon walked to the edge of the calm water, where the slow breath of the surf ran rhythmically. The beach extended far away to the left, disappearing in the horizon's haze, a narrow strip of white sand sandwiched between the palm trees and the sea. To the right, the beach curved and narrowed to a little sand spit that formed a small bay. Behind the spit, too, the waves were lazily stirring.

Jon squinted his eyes, expecting the sun reflecting off the water to blind him, but surprisingly it didn't. He looked up at the sky. There was no sun. Instead, the whole sky seemed to glow. Jon thought that behind its bluish-white light, he could discern a few bright spots, but they were too far away to tell if they were real.

Jon turned his back on the spit and staggered across the wet sand in the opposite direction.

The blow stunned him. It was as if someone suddenly slammed him on the forehead with a thick book. The sand softened the fall. Jon carefully got to his feet and took a step, extending his arms forward.

The wall was completely invisible. It felt like something hard, covered with a thin layer of rubber: a resilient surface under which there was an insurmountable barrier. Jon took a few steps toward the sea, touching the invisible barrier with his hand.

“It goes twenty meters into the sea and then turns and goes along the shore,” a man's voice came from behind Jon. “I've checked.”

Jon turned around swiftly. Between the palm trees stood a tall man with short red hair and pale skin. He was wearing a tracksuit, and like Jon, he was barefoot.

“Have you just arrived?” The man asked. “I have been here for a few hours. Where did you get caught?”

John shrugged.

“Caught?”

The man came toward him. He had a long stick in his hand, and he poked it carelessly against the invisible wall.

“Yeah. Or you came here by your own will? My name is Lucas.”

“Jon. I... I was on Serme-V.”

The man grinned.

“Not a bad change of climate, huh? It's the right environment, they're good. I got here from Verson, was in a solo regatta there. Hell, I might have finished in the top three if they hadn't shoved me in here.”

Jon frantically tried to get his thoughts in order.

“Shoved? What do you mean?”

“Open your eyes, mate!' The man patted him on the shoulder and jabbed his stick at the barrier again. “Great lighting, proper temperature control, walls on all sides. Whoever they are, they get it right! By the way, look closely: the walls are not really transparent. What you see is a simulation.”

Stunned, Jon looked at the wall. Now he saw it clearly: the landscape "on the other side" of the barrier was realistic but too correct, too repetitive, and geometric. A computer simulation.

“I used to keep a threetails from Maulgrave-II back home,” Lucas said. “Funny little critters, but they were too shy. I had to paint the tank's walls so they wouldn't get spooked when people leaned over to get a better look.”

Jon was about to reply, but he was overtaken by a deafening, terrifying roar across the sandbar. Water fountains rose and fell, and something huge moved toward the men. The beach beneath their feet shook rhythmically under the heavy footsteps. Judging by the rhythm, there were more than four legs involved.

“I've had threetails, too,” Jon shouted, gasping to block out the roar and the thunder. “They were very cranky and wouldn't eat anything. So we had to give them...”

“Live food,” Lucas finished for him with his lips turning white.

A giant shadow fell over them, obscuring the glowing sky.