11: Far Away

Previously on We’re Not in Edison City Anymore, Mr. Superlative finally reunited with Samuel Superlative the Third, only to learn the shocking truth about his son, Sam Superlative Jr.! Before we continue our story, however, a quick commercial word!

Thirty Years Ago, the Planet Emi

Murg didn’t consider himself to be very complicated, and he was happy with that; he tended his farm, kept to his own affairs, went into town once a month for supplies and a bit of gossip. He had never been beyond the limits of his district, let alone the planet. The thought of leaving the dimension in which he existed hadn’t so much as crossed his mind. Thus, when he went out to bring in the Trar for the night, he was entirely unprepared to find an alien being sitting next to it.

“Groo!” said the Trar, motioning with its large head towards the creature, as if to indicate that this was new and therefore of some interest. The Trar wasn’t alarmed and hadn’t tried to run away (not that a Trar could run particularly well anyway), so Murg assumed that the being was not, for the moment, dangerous. Still he approached with some caution. “Er, greetings,” he said. “Er, I’m Murg, farmer, Lower Plains District. And what might be your name, then?”

The being stared blankly at him. It made a noise, something that sounded like “Waht?” to Murg’s ears. He sighed. He knew of a translator in the village, but it would be half a day’s journey to get there, and that meant the loss of an entire day’s worth of work on the farm just so he could talk to whoever this creature was. He didn’t even know what he could, come to that, or if he wanted to. Suppose it was dangerous? Suppose- after all, he did have his knife…

Murg sighed again. There was a terribly lost look in the being’s eyes, and he coudn’t bring himself to put it down like that. It’d be close to murder, he felt, particularly if the thing was intelligent. He suspected it was; it was wearing clothes, for one thing, and boots, with tied laces if he didn’t mistake. Well, as usual, if he couldn’t get what he wanted, he’d make do. He pointed to himself. “Murg,” he said, very slowly and louder than usual.

He said it again, with a tap on his front for emphasis. The being nodded and touched his own chest. “Samjunyor,” it said, then shrugged and made an odd sort of hiccup. Murg wasn’t sure if it was laughing or crying. “Sam,” it said again, with another slower tap on its chest.

Well, Murg thought. They’d introduced themselves. That was a start. He wasn’t sure what to do next, but it was something, anyway. Beside him, the Trar rumbled a happy “Groo!”

Time passed. Sam proved surprisingly good at farmwork, once Murg made it clear through various gestures what he needed to do. After a few days they had time to travel out to the village and meet the translator, who was so intrigued by this new development that she offered to host Sam in the village for as long as he wished to stay. Murg, surprising even himself, offered to host both of them back at his farm. The translator, looking even more surprised, agreed.

More time passed, and the translator slowly learned Sam’s speech and worked at teaching theirs to him. It helped that she also had many conversations with Murg, which he could observe and work out the context. Eventually things happened, as they often do, and soon Murg and the translator, whose name was Weel, began having conversations to which Sam was not privy. He didn’t seem to mind at all, particularly since he had met someone back in the village himself. Murg wondered how he could get there and back so quickly; on the other hand, it certainly helped the efficiency of the farm.

As their small world rolled around its star, Murg and Weel had children, and in time Sam himself married and had a child. One day after a particularly successful harvest festival Murg and Sam’s combined families were relaxing together in their common room when a news bulletin came across the viewscreen. In a breaking story, the government of Verin Prime has been overthrown in a popular uprising. Verin’s new leader, Dr. Melinda Lu Flirnalirxzaney has promised…”

“Accent on the za,” Sam said, his eyes distant.

“What?” Murg said.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Sam said, turning away. “Just something I remembered from long ago, that’s all.”

“Ah,” Murg said, and didn’t press. He’d never asked after Sam’s past, and he wasn’t about to start now. Why spoil a good thing, was his philosophy.

Soon enough the bulletin ended and after that they all trundled off to bed. Only Sam lingered, drifting outside and staring at the sky. He’d grown so used to these stars now that he’d almost forgotten, but now…. for the first time in a very long while he looked up and tried to remember what the old skies had looked like. For a moment it felt like the night had a gap in it and he couldn’t think what, and then it hit him: he’d forgotten the Moon.

The last time he’d cried had been at the birth of his son; he cried again now. Being homesick was one thing; being worldsick was, Sam realized, something else entirely.

They had a new Trar now, a younger one, and it chose that moment to wander over him; sensing his upset, it nestled up to him and said, in deeply sympathetic tones, “Groo?”

“Yeah,” Sam Superlative Jr said. “Yeah. Groo.”

Read the Next Episode.

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