The Space Spoon

31. Yacleemb

Tejeda saw that their ship had leveled out, no longer depending on artificial gravity to keep them anchored on the floor or its primary engines to propel them ahead. As they flew over Yacleemb, they passed above its humid tropical rainforest under a silvery sky. Finally, the stabilizing systems kicked in as the Space Spoon slowed down and targeted straight down on lush tall grass.

Because of its axial tilt, Yacleemb, the third planet in the Orsa system, had long-lasting seasons. As it was early spring, a consistent warm temperature would aid with exterior repairs. A 56-hour day also meant more than 28 hours of sunlight.

Stretching his limbs, Tejeda prepared for a nice, quiet stroll outside the ship. He had been on this planet before for quite some time. The only sentient life form on Yacleemb was the Spreah, a humanoid pre-space age race that was very shy and extremely stubborn, not capable of harming another being except with their words.

Tejeda felt better with a steady ground beneath his feet. Even though he hated space and spaceships, he would have to live with them until someone invented a long-range planet to planet teleportation. Maybe he picked this planet especially to be able to stroll through the rainforest every day while Hanga fixed the ship and upgraded it to the standards Tejeda required.

As the tree canopy closed above his head, the grass grew smaller. Once he had known the names of these plants, but that was long ago. Unimportant things faded along the way. He let his thoughts go away, emptying his mind of unnecessary stuff. This was freedom!

“Tejeda, wait!” Shayla’s voice came from behind.

He instinctively grimaced as the silence burst with his name. But he put his smile on its place before he turned. “Lower your tone,” he whispered, pressing his index finger against his lips.

“Did you just shush me?” she asked on the same loud note.

In the trees above, shocked birds let out a collective scream, announcing a possible threat, their wings unleashing whirlwinds of foul scents. Shayla dodged a bird and collided with another one trying to peck at her head. She whirled around, kept low, and shielded herself with her hands.

An explosive outcry blasted through the air, followed by ghastly flapping. The shrieking departed as the birds flew away above the trees. Tejeda laughed. "I told you to lower your tone. These birds react to high-pitched noises and attack. You're in luck because a Spreah taught me a long time ago how to create a sound that drives them away." He leaned down and reached out a hand to help Shayla get up.

She refused his aid, pushing his arm aside with the back of her hand. “You could have done that before they attacked me. But no, you liked to see me pinned down beneath that storm of feathers and pointed beaks.”

“For a bored old man like me, you sure are an inexhaustible spring of entertainment.” Seeing her pouting, Tejeda abstained from laughing any further. “What did you want to discuss with me?”

“Hanga told me the repairs and upgrades would last approximately 20 days,” Shayla said, righting her back and straightening her clothes. “We have food left only for 10, 15 if we lower the rations to two meals a day.”

“Yacleemb is a bountiful planet, and Spreah a welcoming race. Here are enough edible plants with all the necessary nutrients for sustenance. We’ll be fine so stop frowning. You’ll get wrinkles around this area.” Tejeda pointed between his eyebrows and a bit above that spot.

The wrinkles deepened at his words, her eyes sending daggers at his gesture. That didn’t seem to concern Tejeda in the slightest. His finger pointed between the trees. “I think there are some Spreah. Let’s go closer.”

He took a few steps in that way before ducking behind a dense bush. Shayla trailed after him. A young couple conversed only a few feet away from their hiding place. The male was massive. Tall and broad with brawny muscles and a rounded chest covered in short fur, but not enormous.

“I thought you said Spreah are a peaceful race. So, why are we hiding?”

"It's a spy's habit. If I have the chance to sneak closer and hear a conversation before making my presence known, I must take it. Now, shhh!" Tejeda pressed his index finger against his lips again.

“You just shushed me the second time!”

“Shayla, you are a stubborn woman, and I like and hate that about you.”

"We should go present ourselves or walk away. I'm not stubborn. But I know that my method is superior."

“Well, that makes two of us. Now shut up and let me listen.”

Shayla let out a frustrated sigh, but she didn’t continue their little spat.

"Your father is a monster!" said the young Spreah male. His hairy mane fluttered in the spring breeze.

"Why?" Her teary mustard compound eyes locked onto his.

"I asked for his permission to marry you, and told him that I can't live without you. He replied that he would be happy to pay the funeral expenses." He wrapped his heavy arms ending in two-toed hooves around his torso.

“I am 12 years old.” She sobbed, moving her arms around his elegant neck. “If too much time passes beyond the breeding age, I won’t be able to have offspring during my first season.”

The delicate tails of both Spreahs rose as they turned to the bush where Shayla and Tejeda were hiding.

“Hey there.” The Nubilae sprung on his feet, dragging Shayla along with him. “Didn’t want to startle you. We are weary travelers.”

The Spreah male approached. As he moved, the chocolate brown spots of his wool gleamed in the sunshine. "Every traveler is welcome. Please stop by our community for some food and rest. According to the supreme deity Tejeda Hajar, we should welcome you warmly."

Careful for the Spreahs not to hear her, Shayla whispered in his ear, “How old are you?”

"I don't know. I stopped counting when the number reached the fourth digit."