Close Nemesis

Interval: Memories

IDAJ:

After I handed Lygor over to the guards of the parliament of Podplanata III, I didn't receive an audience with the local prime minister as I expected.

Instead, I was arrested, just like Lygor was, exiled to the faraway planet of Giurokaj, a desert world known for its Snugglian colonies and prisoner settlements. Giurokaj's mild radiation gradually reduces the life spans of non-Snugglians, making it an ideal place to send high level prisoners. Because of these prison settlements, Giurokaj is known as the 'planet of prisoners'. I wouldn't say I'm a high-level prisoner, but the corrupt parliament officials of Podplanata III didn't care about whether I had broken my parole orders or not. They just assumed that because I was wearing a pirate outfit, I was up to no good. And they would be correct. But they're still corrupt. They just care about power, from what I've heard.

Podplanata III's security force is definitely corrupt. I doubt the Lygor's plan would've worked even if I did allow him to hand me into custody as he had intended. You can't reason with a corrupt government. You just have to expose them to more genuine governments.

For now, however, I'm making the most of this world. I look out in wonder at the colourful wave shaped rock formations decorate the nearby desert fields. Occasionally, the cold wind scratches against my wooden skin, but, when the wind dies down, the environment becomes rather hot and dusty.

As an Islatopian, I can I eat and drink, but my skin also absorbs the water molecules in the air to prevent itself from drying out.

Unfortunately for me, the strong levels of radiation in Giurokaj's air is shortening my life span by milliseconds, regardless of whether I am meeting my biological requirements.

Some with shorter life spans succumb to the effects of the radiation sooner than others. Giurokaj is a grim place for a majority of prisoners. For others, it's a lovely place in which to perish. There aren't many rules here, but I've managed to stay out of trouble. People don't mess with pirates.

So, I should be fine.

Besides, I don't plan on staying long, anyway. Sooner or later, I'll come across an opportunity to escape.

For now, I'm worried for the rest of the pirate crew, whose missions I suspect will fail just like mine. Hopefully, they're sent to Giurokaj also. It'll be nice to regroup with my fellow crewmembers.

My thoughts about my crew are suddenly interrupted by the meow of a winged griroarin. Their dark beaks, decorated with golden strings of whiskers, look like sharp, pointed needles. Grass like fur covers their seemingly bronze scales, and a glowing purple ring encircles their red reptilian eyes—all five of them.

As it soars over the beautifully smoothed rock formations overhead, I forget about my predicament, remembering the time when I was a young Islatopian living with their parents on Kiral.

The stone-grey dust settles as my cousin Sophalie runs along the snow filled ravine. Our wooden skin carries a natural varnish, causing the sunlight to reflect off it. My thirteen-year-old cousin is two Kiral years older me, but I don't mind being the younger cousin of my small family. Sophalie is one of my best friends, and not just because we bunk together when we have scout camps. We're best friends because we've been passionate about exploring the wilds of the galaxy. Passionate about living a life away from the laws of the galaxy.

Her wiry silver hair hangs loose against her wooden scalp. She's always been wanting to cut her hair off, but her parents won't let her. Islatopians can't regrow their hair, so if Sophalie decides to cut her hair, it's a permanent decision.

I can't imagine cutting my hair. I like the long and thick strands of silver hair that drape down my neck like a curtain of deceit.

I stick my flexible wooden tongue out, letting it taste the cold bitterness of a single snowflake. Then, I lean against the cliff, staring at the wooden huts built into the cliff opposite me.