Orbits

Halle & the Dream, featuring a Story

She watched from above, half-awake, and would later confuse the first part for a dream.

The cameras her kind had left behind on the planet's surface had been connected to the various three-dimensional projectors on the ship, which were mostly in the living pods, anyway. Propped up in bed with the door open, Halle could glimpse the essence of what was going on in the feed displayed in the living room, and strain her ears to interpret the murmur coming from the projection.

It appeared the Metal Men were holding a meeting.

Their real language was strange and harsh sounding, but the computer's universal translator replaced it with the flowing, water-like sounds of Xian tongue, automatically. It did not know every word. When something unknown was uttered, a beeping noise replaced it.

Their expressions were also strange and harsh. Some of the twenty-or-so Metal Men (perhaps the others, if they existed, had set camp elsewhere) spoke with hard, pursed lips, and dimples carved themselves into their foreheads. Or their eyes looked like liquid lightning. Or they smiled and showed their teeth. Some had hidden fountains behind their eyes.

They were marvelling at the dangerous green earth, and inhaling the sweet but poisonous air. They plucked the toxic beads from the trees and bit into them and did not die. The news announcer animating the broadcast gasped at the image. Cameras then panned over to reveal the habitations that grew like a fungus.

Snuggled beneath foamy covers, Halle listened.

"I'm going to set the flag!"

"Whoo-hoo!"

"Ours, ours, ours!"

And the Metal Men were ripping off their suits and twirling. Setting up flags. Setting up fires. There was sunlight in their faces.

One of them said, "No place like home."

#

"Halle!"

Halle started, suddenly fully awake, and pulled the covers over her head—because the voice that had spoken her name didn't come from a hologram.

"Halle, you should be asleep!" her bed chided. The covers retracted, revealing her tired face.

"Sorry," she murmured to the bed. She didn't look the hologram's way.

Unconsciously, though, she turned her head so her ears faced the faint hologram. She could make out laughing and gurgling and raised voices and beeps, but she couldn't see.

"I can tell you're agitated, Halle," the bed whispered against her spine. The action made her ticklish, because the sheets fluttered like air from a mouth, and the frame tightened and loosened like the corners of lips.

She couldn't resist opening her eyes and glancing at the hologram. The Metal Men were drinking a strange liquid that seemed to come in many colours. It clearly made them happy.

She recognized the half-circle formation they sat in with a gasp.

Stories would be told!

"Halle," the bed said, suddenly, "if you don't go to sleep, I'll trap you under the covers until you fall unconscious."

There was a short stretch where Halle almost screamed. But the bed quickly comforted her: