Descending Road - WRITING ANOTHER STORY by Dana W. Paxson

WRITING ANOTHER STORY

1563 4D

The road took Jeddin up and down over growing foothills. As he ran, he reviewed his encounter with the alien at the University. Andros as food. The aliens must have worked long and hard to keep this secret from humans. Unless the humans already knew. If only he could remember those dreams from when, from when… but all that came to him was the first images from the vat where he was made. Or was he?

Jeddin shook his head, sending a spray of sweat into the night. Thirst scratched at his throat. Soon, daylight would arrive, and he would need to find a ride. As he reached the top of a long, steady grade, he stopped to rest under a twisted evergreen, its crowded spatulate leaves offering him both oily moisture and a natural shelter under drooping branches.

As he chewed a leaf and bit into its tang of terpene, he wondered about the aliens' spacecraft. Why had they always refused to take people aboard? Why did they frustrate all attempts to learn anything about their propulsion system and mode of travel? Was it harmful to other life forms? The University‘s interest in potential monopole sites added fuel to his curiosity.

Jeddin stretched out under the branches for a nap. Still an hour before sunrise. When he got to Engrammatic, he would see what he could learn from others there. He hoped he would find Grendel when he got to Engrammatic again. At least they could get some more cash. And Grendel might have some contacts.

Jeddin looked down at his cuts and scrapes. Too bad his coverall didn’t heal the way he did. Where the foot of a desk had ripped him during his crash landing in the classroom, his skin had already knitted itself together along his side, leaving a ropy line that would soon vanish. Through the tear in his coverall he fingered the thin scar. Should he keep it? Honor scars always stayed, on humans and andros alike; but accidental scars, the results of carelessness or clumsiness, were always removed. This mark he’d won in battle, he decided, and he’d keep it.

He broke a fresh leaf in half and smeared its oily sap in the cut. The sap’s fire sawed into his ribcage; he gasped, rubbing it deeper, forcing the wound to inflame and gnarl along its line. Writing another story, Grendel had called it. When the burning subsided, Jeddin slept for three hours.

Story List	SURPRISE ME	Author Page
USER SURVEY	PUZZLE ME	MAKE ELM MARK

HOVER Lucida Bright BARE	HOVER Lucida Bright FULL	HOVER Palatino Linotype BARE
HOVER Palatino Linotype FULL	HOVER Times New Roman BARE	HOVER Times New Roman FULL
PAD Arial BARE	PAD Arial FULL	PAD Lucida Bright BARE
PAD Lucida Bright FULL	PAD Times New Roman BARE	PAD Times New Roman FULL


	WRITING ANOTHER STORY 1563 4D The road took Jeddin up and down over growing foothills. As he ran, he reviewed his encounter with the alien at the University. Andros as food. The aliens must have worked long and hard to keep this secret from humans. Unless the humans already knew. If only he could remember those dreams from when, from when… but all that came to him was the first images from the vat where he was made. Or was he? Jeddin shook his head, sending a spray of sweat into the night. Thirst scratched at his throat. Soon, daylight would arrive, and he would need to find a ride. As he reached the top of a long, steady grade, he stopped to rest under a twisted evergreen, its crowded spatulate leaves offering him both oily moisture and a natural shelter under drooping branches. As he chewed a leaf and bit into its tang of terpene, he wondered about the aliens' spacecraft. Why had they always refused to take people aboard? Why did they frustrate all attempts to learn anything about their propulsion system and mode of travel? Was it harmful to other life forms? The University‘s interest in potential monopole sites added fuel to his curiosity. Jeddin stretched out under the branches for a nap. Still an hour before sunrise. When he got to Engrammatic, he would see what he could learn from others there. He hoped he would find Grendel when he got to Engrammatic again. At least they could get some more cash. And Grendel might have some contacts. Jeddin looked down at his cuts and scrapes. Too bad his coverall didn’t heal the way he did. Where the foot of a desk had ripped him during his crash landing in the classroom, his skin had already knitted itself together along his side, leaving a ropy line that would soon vanish. Through the tear in his coverall he fingered the thin scar. Should he keep it? Honor scars always stayed, on humans and andros alike; but accidental scars, the results of carelessness or clumsiness, were always removed. This mark he’d won in battle, he decided, and he’d keep it. He broke a fresh leaf in half and smeared its oily sap in the cut. The sap’s fire sawed into his ribcage; he gasped, rubbing it deeper, forcing the wound to inflame and gnarl along its line. Writing another story, Grendel had called it. When the burning subsided, Jeddin slept for three hours.