Ar'Tok - Alana Khan Page 0,51
the first grinton stop you take pity on me and let me ride it to the top?”
“I didn’t take you for a quitter,” she scolds. Maybe I’m imagining it, but I think I hear relief in her voice.
A few minimas later, she almost slips, finding a foothold just in time after causing a cascade of loose rock to rain down on the people below us. I’ve tried to let her do this herself, but her pride is going to get her hurt. Climbing even with her, I convince her to slide onto my back, then carry her to the flat grinton stop about two-hundred fiertos above us.
She weighs nothing, and having her on my back means I can go faster than before because I’m not busy ensuring her safety. I do, however, have to listen to her endless complaints that she was doing fine without my help.
“I didn’t know you were so bossy, Ar’Tok. I’m only letting you carry me because it will help you quit worrying about me.”
When we arrive at the flat rest stop, I find us a wooden bench and settle us both onto it. The vista we see from up here was worth the climb. I nestle my arm around her, and we both silently take in the view.
“Wow,” she says.
“Pictures could never do this justice,” I breathe.
We have a two-hundred-degree view, and are surrounded on all sides by a fertile river valley down below. The greens, blues, and yellows of the foliage are even richer near the winding waterway.
“Smell it?” I ask.
“Fresh? The fresh air? Yeah. I never knew what I was missing breathing recycled air from the oxygenator my entire life.”
“One month ago, Star, just one month ago I never could have dreamed I’d see any of this.”
“Me neither.”
Her little hand reaches out for mine and squeezes it hard. “Don’t think for a minute I don’t know that you have no need to ride the grinton. That was sweet the way you did that, though, so I didn’t feel like a failure.”
I squeeze her hand back.
We hear the grinton pulling in. “Want to take this one to the top, or wait for the next?” I ask.
“To the top!” she announces as we rise, still holding hands. I love the pattern our blue and yellow nails make when they’re entwined.
The grinton is at least a century old, it’s been repainted many times, and doesn’t go nearly as fast as the hover that brought us here.
“It’s charming, don’t you think?” Star asks.
We’re busy looking out the window to our right, the view becoming more spectacular with every fierto we rise.
“What’s wrong with that male, Mama?” asks a little voice to my left.
“Shh.”
“Why is he striped like that? Was he bad? Did he get a whippin’?”
I pivot my head farther right, wanting to avoid catching a glimpse of mother or son.
“Shh, Shamdah,” his mother scolds.
“Mister,” the boy persists, “were you bad?”
I know the little male means no harm. Perhaps this is how younglings behave, how would I know, I’ve never been around any.
Star leans around me and pierces him with her gaze. She’s never been around children, either. I worry she'll scold him, although it’s not his fault.
“Those are good questions,” she says, her voice sweet and calm. “He looks different, doesn’t he?”
I swivel my head enough to catch his nod out of the corner of my eye. He’s a handsome humanoid male, with pale lavender skin.
“Is your planet at peace?” she asks, gazing down at the boy and then up at the mom.
“Yes.”
“Peace is a wonderful thing. It makes us feel safe. Do you feel safe with your momma and poppa?” she asks, her voice soft.
“Yes.” He nods.
Star smiles at him. “I’m so glad you have peace in your home and peace on your planet. We all deserve that, don’t you think?”
“Yes.”
“Some people aren’t so lucky. What’s your name?”
He looks up at his mother who gives him permission with a nod.
“Shamdah.”
“Shamdah, what a pretty name. Some people aren’t so lucky. Some people aren’t safe at home or on their planets. Through no fault of their own they get hurt. Terrible, isn’t it?”
“Terrible,” he repeats. It comes out sounding like ‘tewwible’.
“So tonight when you say your prayers, be especially thankful that you have peace. Will you do that?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“And if you feel like it, say prayers for people who don’t have it.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Just as I’m thinking what a calm, sweet, loving gift Star is, I feel a little tug at my shirt.
“Mister?”
“Yes?”
“Can I pray for you?”
My chest