LF Friends, Will Travel

A Badly Disguised Hagorathian

Date: 78 PST (Post Stasis Time).

Bradley was very, very, confused.

He stared at the sight standing in front of him, mouth slightly agape as his brain tried to catch up and provide much needed context, and coming up empty. Every single piece of knowledge and momentary experiences the Terran had had in his long life, was failing him as he tried to work out exactly what he was looking at.

"I... The.... what?..."

He mumbled a few words, glancing around to see if anyone else could see what he was seeing, sadly he was alone apart from this... thing. This was not what he had expected to walk into. It was supposed to be a nice, calming, completely uneventful trip Bradley had booked himself on: Havias' Farming Retreat. While the need for actual hands-on farming had long since been progressed out of existence, there was still something... satisfying about creating your own food.

Spending the months needed to take simple seed, water and soil, and turning it into something tangible was a special kind of joy. A taste of effort and hard work that couldn't be replicated by pressing some buttons on a bio printer. Even after Terrans had long since destroyed scarcity through technology, the act of creation itself still had inherent value.

That's why this place existed, a small vibrant planet on the border between Terran and Ritilian space, a chance to get away from the hustle and bustle of modern life, to grow something with your own hands, or hand-equivalents depending on your species. Bradley had been very excited when he initially arrived, the forever pink sky and two suns greeting him as the horse-drawn vehicle he rode on had traveled along the dirt roads away from the planet's only spaceport.

Little shacks and primitive buildings had been scattered against the sunsets, casting long shadows over vibrant turquoise fields. Mountains barely visible in the distance as rivers and lakes of crystal clear water shone like jewels throughout the land. No spaceships littering the sky, no streetlights or motor vehicles of any kind left tracks in the dirt. Just nature, ingenuity and plenty of elbow grease were allowed in this small rebellion against the eternal march of technology.

The farm when he'd arrived had been exactly the same as the rest of the planet: Simple wooden buildings, manual tools, and a promise of hard work and the satisfaction of living rough, without any of the real danger should you fail. The only modern piece of technology, the only sign of a metallic building, was a simple Galnet communication tower smack bang in the middle of the customer and staff housing: A requirement for emergencies, should something go wrong and outside help be needed. Even if Bradly had brought his Holopad, there'd be nowhere to charge it, and no network to connect to: On this planet, it was truly as if the last 4 thousand years of Ritilian technological advancement hadn't happened.

Other people had also been walking along the dirt paths and between the various buildings on offer at the facility. A mixture of staff and other customers who had signed up for the experience, a variety of species and members of the Terran alliance: Humans and their uplifts, Parkets chirping noisily, the two headed serpentine Zazzu chatting with themselves; The farm had attracted all kinds of people, all wanting their own little sliced of primitive history for their own reasons.

It was particularly interesting and exciting for Bradly, since Havias' Farming retreat advertised teaching you how to grow Ritilian crops the traditional way, something that he'd never tried before. It sounded like a cool thing, spending several months in the middle of nowhere learning something new from a cool alien species. Nothing could interrupt or complicate such an endeavor.

Until he'd walked into the main assembly area to check himself into the farm, a giant wooden structure with plenty of seating for the lessons on how to work the tools Bradly would be learning about. Until he'd walked in and seen.... And seen....