Word: Ultramafic

 

ultramafic

[ uhl-truh-maf-ik ]

 

adjective Geology.

ultrabasic.

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               The alien landscape seemed to stretch on forever. An endless plain under a pale yellow-blue sky. A few distant mountains broke up the horizon, but otherwise there was little to disrupt the view of the landscape. Even though it was day, a few stars twinkled weakly in the sky, opposite the great sun that lit the distant planet. There was no moon to be seen, although there were two of them in orbit. And as far as the eye could see, there was only one living being standing upon the planet.

               Major Julian Verlian stood there, almost unmoving. His space suit made him feel confined, even in the wide-open area. His landing craft stood in solemn silence behind him, waiting to take him back to the ship whenever he needed to leave. He looked around the alien planet, the first human to set foot on a world other than Earth. As he did, words came to him. He spoke them into the comms line in his helmet.

               “Well, god damn it.”

               “Uh, care to repeat that Jules?” Said the voice on the other end. One of the ship’s crew, Kevin Reynolds. A god man. Well, mostly. At least he was a good stellar navigator.

               “God damn it.” Julian said again.

               “What’s going on down there, Major?” Kevin asked.

               “Rocks, that’s what’s happening. There’s nothing but god damned rocks down here. I mean it. There’s no plants, no animals. Not even water. Just rocks. This has got to be the most boring alien planet in the universe.”

               “Oh come on, Jules.” Another voice this time. The ship’s lead biologist, Heather Greene, said. “It can’t be that bad. Besides, it’s not like there’s a lot of others to compare it to.”

               “Oh, trust me. It’s that bad. Well, I guess Jack’ll be happy at any rate.”

               The man in question, Jack Douglas, came on the comms. “Did I hear someone calling my name?”

               “The major says he’s got a lot of rocks for you to play with.” Kevin said.

               “Nothing but, Jack.” Julian said.

               The geologist sounded almost giddy. “Really? Can you send me a sample?”

               “Yeah, hang on.”

               Julian went through the laborious process of bending down in the space suit. Then came the equally tricky task of unhooking one of the specialized sample tubes from his belt. Filling it was easy. All he had to do was run it along the ground. Pebbles and dirt filled it readily. He capped it, then plugged the tube into the analyzer built into his suit’s backpack. He heard it buzz and beep for several minutes.

               “Huh, interesting. And do all the rocks you see look like these?”

               “Just about.”

               “Interesting. These aren’t so much rocks as they are lumps of metal. Mostly iron and magnesium. Not a lot of the silicate minerals we see in Earth rocks.”

               “Okay, so they’re lumps of metal instead of rocks. Doesn’t make them more interesting to see.” Julian said.

               “Permission to disagree?”

               “Not like I can stop you.”

               “Well, in that case, I firmly disagree. An entire world with stones like these is fascinating. What processes could have gone into making them? How long did it take to form? So many questions. I can’t wait to get my hands on them in person.”

               “I’ll make sure to gift wrap a few of the bigger ones.” Julian said, rolling his eyes. He could hear the other members of the crew trying to stifle their chuckles.

               “So, what’re you going to do, Major?” Kevin asked. “You going to look around a little more, or are you coming right back up?”

               Julian shrugged. “Might as well look around for a little while. I’ve only been here for a few minutes. Maybe I’ll get lucky and see…something else. I’ll stay out for another half hour, pick up a few rocks and then head back.”

               All the crew members gave their acknowledgement. With that, Julian chose a random direction and started walking. He was not hopeful that he would actually find something, but he at least had to try. 

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If you're wondering, ultrabasic refers to the kind of rocks found on this planet. Or at least, the ones in the story. Not very interesting, but it's what I had to work with.

Word: Sennachie

sennachie

[ sen-uh-kee ]

noun Chiefly Scot., Irish.

a professional storyteller of family genealogy, history, and legend.

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               The king and his court stood in almost reverent silence as the thin man entered the room. The man was dressed in simple clothes, covered in an unadorned cloak and had a large leather pack slung over his shoulder. He looked for all the world like a normal man off the street. And yet, not a single person complained when he made no move to bow to the king. The man barely even acknowledged the other finely dressed nobles in the throne room. And yet, from the way some of them were looking at him, it seemed more like they were honored to be in his presence.

               “Your majesty.” The man said, with a small bow of his head. “I am summoned, and so I come.”

               “Indeed, Storyteller. Indeed you are.” The king said. “And I am glad that you managed to make it. I am sure it was no easy task, given your no doubt full schedule.” There was no malice or ire in the king’s voice. Merely acknowledgement of a fact.

               “I take the jobs that I feel are worth my time.” The Storyteller said. “Now then, sire, what story shall I tell to you and this fine court?”

               “My lineage.” The king said. “I would have the full story, from the first of my family line to my grandfather.”

               The Storyteller closed his eyes and nodded. “A fine story, I am sure. But a long one. Are you sure you wish the full story? Such a thing might take days, or even weeks depending on your line and their deeds.”

               “Hm, I see. That will be difficult. Perhaps only spend time on those of significance, and merely mention those of less renown.”

               “Very well. I will need a piece of you. A drop of blood would be best, but a hair or some saliva will do as well.”

               Even as he spoke, the Storyteller was unslinging his pack and taking out various tools of his trade. A large stone bowl. Various bottles of technicolor liquids. Parchment and quill. And dozens of tools those gathered had no knowledge of. The king offered an outstretched finger to the man, who took a small knife. The finger was pricked just enough to spill a single drop of blood, which was taken to the bowl. The Storyteller worked for several minutes, mixing the liquids and stirring, using various tools to do his magic. And then, when he was done, he drank the mixture. He stood for several minutes with closed eyes. And then he stood.

               He held out his hands, which glowed with magical light, and an image of a man appeared. He looked like the king in a way, although the eyes were far different.

               “This is the first of your line. The first true ancestor of your family.” The Storyteller intoned. “A simple man was he, with no great blessings. Content with his life, he tended sheep and pigs, selling when he could and buying when he needed. A good man, but a humble one. But he had friends. Friend he could count on and rely upon. It was these friends that saw him to become a leader of his small village.”

As he spoke, the images shifted to show his words, animals and people came and went. The Storyteller spoke of the ancestors few accomplishments before moving on. His words rang through the throne room, and although on the surface they held no great weight, those who listened to them could feel them resonating through their entire being. The Storyteller went on to the man’s son, who helped grow the village into a small trading town. Others were skipped, having no real achievements, merely living good lives.

He spoke of how there was a great war, and although his line were not renowned warriors, they still fought anyway. How they grew in honor and power. Until one day a poor king took the throne, and nearly ran the country into the ground. And how the king’s ancestor challenged the poor old king to a duel of honor for the throne, and won. And the Storyteller kept telling of the deeds of the new dynasty that had formed, both good bad and neither. He only stopped when he came to the current king’s grandfather.

“And so we come to your grandfather, where our story ends.” The Storyteller said. There was a moment of silence in the room, as all those in attendance thought about what they had heard. The story, the history. None of it embellished of false.

“A fine tale. A fine one indeed.” The king said, breaking the silence.

“Thank you, sire.” The Storyteller said. He was already packing up his tools and supplies. “Although it did last longer than I thought.”

None of them had noticed the time. It was now well past sunset, although the tale had started in the mid-morning.

“Ah, so it has. Then, we shall dine. Storyteller, you are more than welcome to eat with us and stay the night here before you move on in the morning.”

“Of course, sire.”

The gathering changed into a small party as food and drink were brought in. And the conversation all revolved around one man. For it was not every day that even nobles and royalty were able to speak with a true Storyteller.

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Not much to say about this one today. Hope you're all enjoying the nice weather. Hopefully it'll last awhile. 

Word: Xyst

 

xyst

[ zist ]

noun

1. (in ancient Greek and Roman architecture) a covered portico, as a promenade.

2. (in an ancient Roman villa) a garden walk planted with trees.

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               Sam leaned against a tree and looked down the promenade. It was beautiful place. The sun shone on the wide, neatly cobbled path. Well kept trees, shrubs and other plants lined the stree, giving the place a cheerful, inviting atmosphere. People walked along the path, each living their lives and going about their business. Sam hated it.

               There were too many people for one. He had no idea what any of their intents were. Most of them were probably locals or tourists, but that did not mean all of them were. There were too many to keep track of, and it would be all too easy for someone to get the drop on him. Plus, the plants that were so popular represented a danger to him. They would offer precious little cover should something happen, while also providing ample concealment for anyone that might have unpleasant intentions.

               The place may as well have been a death trap for people like him. If there was any other option, he would have taken it. His only solace was, ironically, the number of people around. While they made identifying potential threats nearly impossible, they also meant that any aggressors could not move freely. Not if they wanted to remain under cover, at any rate. He would have to take a chance.

               With a deep breath to steel his nerves, he took a step away from the tree and out onto the promenade. After a few steps he was not dead, so that was a plus. In Sam’s line of work, every moment you were alive was a good one. He kept walking, eyes dating from side to side. It was not ideal, but with all the people around he would not be able to effectively hear anyone approaching, so that was all he had left.

               He fought the urge to move quickly. That would just draw unnecessary attention, which was something he could do without. So he kept his pace casual. Even the way he held himself made him just another face in the crowd. It would not help against someone observant enough, but it would let him avoid a less wary hunter. It was probably the best defense he could have.

               He made it passed the halfway point of the promenade, but he did not lower his guard. He could not afford to do that until he was in a safe haven. But at least in the city proper there were more hiding places he could use. He kept his pace even. Nobody even looked at him for more than a second or two. Then he froze.

               While he was so focused on what was in front of him, he had slipped up. He felt something piercing his back. A small, thin something. A needle of some kind. His eyes widened.

               “Sorry about this.” Came a gentle, quiet female voice from behind. “It’s nothing personal though. You know how it is. Got to pay the bills and all that. Don’t worry, you won’t die right away. I’d say you have about half an hour to get someplace nice and private before that lovely little organic needle dissolves and you start bleeding. Maybe you’ll get to a doctor in time. Maybe you won’t. Good luck, Sam.”

               The woman passed by him. She was a moderately pretty woman, dressed in clothes that could have come from anywhere. Just another face in the crowd. Sam could appreciate that. If he survived, maybe he would even see her again. Of course if he did, he would have to try and kill her, but that was the world he lived in. But, before he could do that, he had to deal with his needle problem. He headed off into the city, looking for a place to get his wounds treated. He had a lot to look forward to now.

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Not sure if the ending is any good on this one. But I'm tired, so that's what you're getting. Maybe someday it'll be improved, but that's not too likely.