Grass by Spline Duck

Copyright 1999


Editor's Note: The records of the organization
known as INTERSEX contain many fascinating and
original events. As they are edited and released,
we hope to bring more of them to the attention of
the public. INTERSEX is officially the acronym of
Interstellar Scientific Expeditions (but everyone
knows that it really stands for Interspecies Sex;
that's what makes their bread and butter.  SD


= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = == = = =


"I see you've been playing with a photo-editing
program."

"Huh?" I looked up, startled, to see my new
supervisor standing next to me, looking at the
picture above my desk. "Oh, yeah. It was a going-
away gift from a friend."

"Cute," he commented. "How did you . . ."

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

We were nearing the planet, getting ready to land.
INTERSEX had sent us to find a missing recording
team. The couple hadn't reported in when expected.
We knew them pretty well, so we'd asked to be
assigned to check the situation.

I always worry when people are overdue, but
accidents are rare in this business, and this was
supposed to have been almost a vacation, a trivial
job. No negotiations, no people - - just land, walk
around, take a few simple recordings, lay back, and
enjoy an easy week or two. So why were they
overdue? I was worried, but I'm often told I worry
too much, so I kept it to myself. But I worried.

The planet looked unusual even from several
planetary diameters out. From orbit, it looked like
a green marble. Most of it was covered in grass,
wide steppes broken by only a few small lakes and
dotted only sparsely with small, forested areas.
The atmosphere was very clear. You could see
weather patterns in the grass; wind along the
weather fronts made the grass lie down so that it
looked dark against the lighter green of the calmer
areas.

"Maybe there'll be monsters this time, something
exciting," 592 said.

"I don't think there'll be much except grass and
trees. After all, they were just here to make a
recording of trees, and there aren't any animals
larger than insects. I think they just had some
minor breakdown - - they're probably camping out,
fucking up a storm, hoping that a ride home doesn't
arrive too soon. What could happen? It was supposed
to be a cakewalk."

"Did you realize that we've worked together for 15
years?" 592 said. "We've had a lot of good
assignments in that time."

That came from out of the blue! What could he be
thinking about?

"Yeah," I said, "I guess that's about right. We're
lucky we're compatible." I smiled. "And we're lucky
that INTERSEX likes to send couples on so many of
their projects. It's great to be able to spend time
together when we're working."

He hesitated. "We've been together a long time. I
don't want to hurt you, but I've got to talk about
this. I want to tell you something I've been
thinking about for quite a while," he said.

He looked out the window. I wondered what in the
world was going on with him. He looked back at me
and then out the window again.

"I'm feeling kind of dry. I've even been thinking
lately about how nice retiring would be, going back
to my hometown on Earth. This grassy planet reminds
of the fields around my home." He looked down at
the floor of the cabin. "Would you come with me?"

Then he started talking fast, as if he were finally
getting out something he'd been hanging onto for
far too long. I was in shock.

"It's a really peaceful place. It's pretty, and
it's friendly. Somehow, for the last year or two
our assignments haven't really interested me like
they used to. I think I want to get out. But I want
you to come with me. It's not you; it's the job,
the instability, feeling lonely in crowds of
strangers." He looked me in the eye. " I didn't
know how to tell you, how to start talking about
this. I really want you to come with me."

Floored! My mind wasn't functioning! My companion,
and he's thinking about quitting, taking me away
from my work, leaving me, perhaps.

"I don't know; I don't even know how to think about
it. I need some time. I enjoy our work, and I'm not
sure about settling down yet. What's happened to
make you want to pull out? What about us? Maybe we
can somehow change what we do."

He hesitated, and then started to answer. "Lately,
the assignments seem more or less the same. Every
assignment . . . the repetitious struggle to meet
another new group of people and persuade them to
let us do a recording. I'm not . . ."

He was interrupted by an alarm. I looked at the
console. "There's the signal from their ship. Let's
get ready to land. Let me think more about it. We
can talk more on the return trip. We'll have a lot
of time then, and I'll have had some time to get my
feelings in order. I don't know right now; I just
don't know what to think."

I wish I'd encouraged him to finish his thoughts
right then.

On the way down, he started talking about the
mission. "Trees," he said. "Why trees? Why are we
here to record trees? Who's interested in trees?
How did they come up with this idea of recording
trees."

"Well, they're pretty unusual trees," I replied.
"They have at least a minimal self-awareness, not
as much as birds, but certainly more than bees."
And in my mind I wondered why he was suddenly
having all these doubts about such a simple thing.
What was happening to my companion?

"But how did they even find that out? Who would
have thought to look at the trees? I wouldn't have
done; would you?"

I thought back to the extra material that came with
the mission plan. "They didn't find any animals
larger than insects here. No one had ever seen a
planet where plants were the dominant life form.
When the first expedition didn't find any large
animals, they used their recording equipment to try
to scan a large area quickly. When they scanned the
forest, they found that the trees had a kind of
awareness, and, at least a little, they can
communicate with each other. INTERSEX thought it
might be interesting to have a recording of such a
different lifeform. If nothing else, it might be
useful for educational programs."

"Yeah! Well, they're still just trees. How much sex
life could trees have?"



We landed near their ship. It sat in a space
between the forest and the steppe. Here the grass
was shorter. A short distance from the ship, there
was an open-air camp. But there was no sign of our
friends. I called out, but no one answered; I
started to worry a bit more.

I said, "You check the campsite. I'll look in the
ship. If they have their clothes off, bawl them out
for starting the party before the guests arrived.
And then whistle me up. If they don't have them
off, ask them what they're waiting for."

The hatch on the ship was open. Inside, everything
looked fine, but as I left, I noticed that there
were leaves, dust, and scraps of grass near the
door, as if the door had been open for some days.
They weren't there, and they hadn't been there for
a while. I went to see what 592 had found.

"The camp's pretty much in order. But everything's
dusty. Bed's been slept in; looks like unwashed
dishes from breakfast. But nothing disturbed. They
haven't been here for at least several days. I
called, but I got no response. Recording and
camping equipment are gone, so they may be out on a
hike to make some records."

I looked around at the camp, the grassy plain, the
nearby woods. "God, these insects are noisy. Some
of these guys are as big as mice. Look at the size
of these holes. Listen to the noise coming out of
them. Hey, I didn't see anything amiss in the ship,
just that the door was open. Kind of careless if
they had planned to be away. On the other hand, you
said the camping equipment is gone."

"Maybe they're lost."

I said, "Or maybe they've gone for a long hike.
It's past midday. Let's set up a minimal camp so we
can sleep outside the ship. Then we can take a tour
of the woods."

He hesitated. "I'd just as soon leave the woods for
later. Why don't we just look around out here?
There's no rush about going in there."

I laughed. "Hey! There's nothing dangerous here!
Besides, we'll just poke around in the borders
today. There's not enough time to go very far
before dark. Tomorrow, we'll put some effort into
finding them, and maybe we'll make a couple of
recordings ourselves. Don't look so sad!" I edged
up beside him and bumped him with my hip. Rubbing
it up and down against him, I whispered, "Let's get
our camp set up. Then we'll go look in the woods.
Maybe we can set an example for the trees. They're
already hard; maybe we just need to wake them up."

Tents, tarps, stoves, sleeping bags - - everything
for a simple campout came out. 592 did his part
like sleepwalker; he looked so down. It was hard to
carry on a conversation with him. Afterwards, we
went for a walk along the border of the woods.

He said, "God! There are a lot of bugs here. I hope
they quiet down at night. If they don't, it's going
to be like trying to sleep in an um-pah band."

I said, "I don't know. I always like the summer
crickets, the louder, the better. When we'd visit
my grandparents, I always enjoyed going to sleep to
the crickets. I slept best when they were the
loudest. When the seventeen year locusts came, I
slept like a log."

When we returned, I warmed up a dinner for us. I
decided to try to cheer him up after we had eaten.
I'd always been able to cheer him up in the past;
he'd even cheered me up a few times when I was
down. I made a few plans.

"Come on. There's little pond not far from the
woods. Let's take an after-dinner stroll. It'll
feel good." I hooked my arm through his and lead
the way onto the veldt, rubbing up against him as
much as possible. Before we got to the pond, I had
my hand in his shorts, feeling his butt.

"You know," he said, "this reminds me of a little
pond in the woods near my home. We used to take our
girlfriends there to make out."

"I'm here," I said. Sidling around to the front of
him, I said, "And you can do some serious making-
out with me if you want." A bulge pressing into my
belly told me that serious was at least one of the
way stations to be expected. Reaching in to check
on progress, I said, "And your friend here might
want to join in, too. I have a treat waiting for
you that he might enjoy." And we started back to
the camp. I figured I had him; men are so easy.
This was going to be fun.



"Lay back, and just think of this as my birthday
present to you. We'll do it again on your birthday
if you like it. Put this headset on." As he lay
down, I got out the recording that John in the
Research Department had helped me produce. It was
just the two of us, but "enhanced." They can do a
lot in the R&D department; their equipment is
better than any commercial rig, and they can make
recordings that are better than anything you ever
saw before. Their stuff is easy to get lost in.

"Just kick off those shoes and pants. Close your
eyes and just flow along with the recording. I'll
be back in a couple of minutes." I'd put a long,
slow lead-in on the session. It started with just
some music in a misty environment. Almost no
sensations in the beginning, but as the mist
clears, the sensations join in quickly. I went to
get some lubricant and a headset for myself.

When I returned, he was kind of hard. I put on a
headset of my own so I could monitor his ascent,
but I kept the intensity turned way down. This show
was for him, and I didn't want to get lost. I
picked up the recording while it was still in the
misty, diffuse feelings section. "OK! ShowTime," I
whispered to him. Reaching down to grab hold of
him, I felt him harden a bit more; I pushed a
button to start the progression into the next
section. In the recording, I saw myself stride out
of the mist with long, assured steps. Not me, but
an Amazon-me, half-again as tall as him, muscled
and confident. My face was covered with fearsome
cat-like tattoos; hair flaming streaks of red,
black, and yellow; I was a leopard in heat.

Form-fitting black only accentuated the muscles; a
huge scar on the right arm was one sign that here
was a tough one. "They said you would be waiting
for me," she rumbled. And she reached out to grasp
him, laughing, saying, "But this little thing won't
do. We've got to do better than this." We both
started to stroke him. She said, "Come on! I'm
planning on enjoying myself, and a little splinter
isn't going to cut it, no matter how hard it is."
As she stroked him, he not only got harder, but the
penis in the vision began to grow. Larger, rougher,
redder, and her huge hand circled it, stroked it,
squeezed it, encouraging its growth. "That's more
like it!" she yelled. "I need a real man. I've
never yet found one who's too big for me." He was
as hard as I had ever felt him, and in the vision,
his penis was huge; finger-sized veins snaked blue
over the enlarging, reddening surface.

The Amazon continued massaging with both her
immense hands. They barely circled the growing
penis as it approached its ultimate size. Somehow,
now she was naked except for a huge black bra
holding heavy, swaying breasts. Sparse, darkish
hair lined the edges of the lips between her
thighs, making her sex open and obvious as she
swung a leg over him. The looming organ reared up
to meet her. She thrust herself down, grunting with
effort, sighing as she opened, and then exhaling as
her depths were opened. Liquid squirted from her
sex as she was filled. "That's better," she
growled. Then a deep purr rumbled from her as she
came, forcing a jet of sticky fluid out as his
massive penis was squeezed by her huge vagina. She
pounded her fist on his chest and came again with
an incoherent shout. I just kept stroking slowly;
it wasn't quite time for him to come.

Pressing down to take the full, extravagant length,
she said, "Now, it's your round. Let's see what
this beast can do." She turned, dismounting, with
streams of sticky, almost jelly-like, liquid
dripping from her vagina. A thick, long-fingered
hand descended to grasp him, stroke him. The other
joined in the dance, both sliding the length from
base to knob. I was so pleased with the effect on
him; he continued hard, and I could see he was
having trouble controlling himself.

A warrior's hand clasped his glans, thumb stroking
the dimple, fingers kneading the rest. "I'm ready
for you now," she muttered, and leaning down, she
started to take him into her mouth. I started
squeezing harder and stroking faster. His little
thrusts told me he was almost there. He stiffened
as her lips reached the base of the monster organ.
My lips surrounded the tip of his penis as a small,
salty stream landed on my tongue. The Amazon-me
sucked on; lips sliding up and down, she swallowed
and swallowed and swallowed. He grunted and sighed
and then began to relax, sliding away into
unconsciousness. The Amazon patted him, saying,
"Good boy," and stalked away. The music and mist
returned and then faded away. I was alone with an
unconscious, but well-satisfied, partner.

I lay there basking in a warm, internal glow of
success. I owed John in R&D a big present. Perhaps
I was overly pleased with myself, but his gentle
snoring just made my accomplishment better. The
sounds of insects faded as darkness became
complete. For a while, the wind blew through the
trees, that beautiful, comforting sound. I just lay
there feeling at peace. As the last shreds of light
faded from the sky, the night shift of bugs slowly
began their crazy lullaby as I faded into a deep
sleep.



In the morning, 592 was his usual happy self again.
A little affection and a big blowjob seemed enough
to make him a new man.

We took a short walk in the woods. The trees were
fairly far apart, and there was almost no
undergrowth. I had walked a little way ahead before
I noticed that 592 was hanging back near the edge
of the woods. I called out, "C'mon, fraidy-cat!
There's lots to do."

592 started walking slowly toward me. He kept
looking around and turning to look back the way we
had come in. "Did you notice," he said, "how much
quieter it is in here? Out in the grass, it's an
opera, a symphony, and a brass band, all at once -
- a bug's choral. And when you step into the woods,
it all stops! It's almost silent in here. About all
I hear is the wind in the trees and your stomping
on the leaves."

"I didn't notice. I was thinking about other
things." I turned to walk back toward the edge. As
I neared the grass, the onslaught of sound started,
first softly, then louder and louder. "I got used
to the sound and didn't notice," I said. "Come on,
Let's go look around."

We wandered around for a while, checking our
direction finder occasionally to make sure we
weren't just circling around in the trees. There
was no sign of the other team, but that was hardly
surprising. What was worrying was the lack of any
sign at the camp that they had expected company. If
I'd had a problem, I would have hung around the
camp or at least left a note.

By late midday, I was getting hungry enough to want
to go back. This wandering around was pleasant, and
it gave us a perspective about what the countryside
was like, but it wasn't a very helpful way to
search for our friends. I called to 592, "Let's
head back to eat. While we walk, we can do a little
planning. We need to organize our search a bit
more."

He stopped and looked around. Pointing, he said,
"See that low rock outcropping going off that way.
That's roughly the direction of the ships, and the
trees are thinner along the side of the rocks.
Let's start that way. It should be easy walking."

And so we started strolling back to lunch, talking
easily because there was enough room to easily walk
side-by-side. It was sunny, comfortably warm; this
world seemed a paradise, comfortable in every way.
That's when we found it: just a little plastic cap,
nothing really, lying in the grass, knocked off
some piece of equipment or fallen from a pack,
dirty.

Now we knew; they'd come this way. Time to make
some real plans to search for them. On our walk
back to camp, we held hands and hugged, but we
hardly talked. We both had a feeling that we
wouldn't see our friends again. A dreadful feeling
seemed to smother us.

Lunch was almost silent, with a little talk about
the morning hike. We were both dreading the next
step. We needed to find our friends, but we were
afraid that things were not right in this paradise.
After lunch, we started to look at an aerial photo
of the region.

"That rocky ridge we followed back leads to a small
clearing in the forest," 592 said. "If I were going
to make a recording, I'd probably go there; it
would have the advantage of surely being enough
space to set up the equipment easily, and it would
be a good place to camp. If I'd been them, that's
where I would have planned to work."

"It's too late to start today. Let's get our stuff
together today, and we'll just look around in the
woods and grasslands around camp for the rest of
the day. If we get an early start tomorrow, we
could hike to the clearing and back by late
afternoon. We can take camping equipment, in case
we decide to go farther. We might have to spend
some time looking around there, and now, I'm really
worried that we might find them."

"Come on," 592 said. "Let's go look around in the
woods some more."

As we walked into the woods, the shroud of quiet
descended again. "You know," 592 said, "It's not
just quiet in here; it's dead. Look! Dead bugs! All
around us: dead bugs! But they're mostly over
there, near the edge of the woods."

We looked around, walking in and out of the
periphery of the wood. 592 whispered, "They just
come in here and die. There's nothing living in
here but trees. The bugs fly in from the grasslands
and die. I don't even see gnawed leaves. They just
die. Boom! Dead!" He looked around and shook his
head. "Funny! Dead!" He walked another 50 paces
into the trees. "None! Not a single one in here,
not even dead."

I picked up one of the bugs. It looked just like
the ones out in the grass. When I picked up
another, it was slightly stuck to the ground; I
looked and saw that roots that had grown into it. I
showed it to 592. "Look! This one was stuck to the
ground. It looks like the trees are quick to get
the nutrients from the dead bugs. This one's still
fresh, and already the trees have grown roots into
him." I stooped and pulled hard to get another off
the ground. "And this one just a mass of roots. And
look around! There are little bug- shaped lumps
everywhere." I knelt and started picking apart a
mossy lump. "Look here! Inside this lump is a bug's
exoskeleton. The trees are eating the bugs."

"This place is giving me the creeps. Let's go back
and pack up for tomorrow. I'm starting to like this
job less and less. It's even worse than the others
we've been doing lately."

After dinner, 592 and I sat and discussed our plan
for the next day. After our walk in the woods, he
had become distant again. I tried to draw him out,
but, in the end, I only felt more alone.

In the morning, we started early. The same eerie
fading of the insects' songs accompanied our
outset.

592 said, "You know, when we first arrived, I hated
the unending noise from the bugs. Then we saw that
something happened in the woods to kill them, and
now I'd rather hear that sound of life than this
funereal quiet. These dead woods trouble me.
They're eating the only live things here. We've got
to get off this planet as soon as we can."

I couldn't find an answer. I had the same feeling:
this dead, deadly vacuum of sound ate at me as we
walked along.

Late in the morning, he said, "I think I see an
opening over there. That must be the clearing."

I said, "Go ahead. I'm going to pee here and catch
up in a moment."

I was just adjusting my clothes when he called,
"Their equipment's here, but they're not. It's all
set up for a recording. Come and help me check
things out."

The clearing was perhaps fifty paces across. As I
walked into it, I turned and said, "They are here.
I see them over there at the far edge, near the
packs."

"What are you talking about? There's no one here.
Get some glasses."

"They're there. I see them. But I don't really want
to see what I know is there." And we walked across
the clearing. The clearing was mostly level,
slightly rolling. But next to the packs was a mossy
lump. When I used my imagination, I could see it as
two lovers, snuggled together, overgrown with moss.
I started to cry.

"It's just like the bugs. They're just like the
bugs. I knew it as soon as I saw them across the
clearing."

"No! You can't be right. It's just an old log or
two."

Falling to my knees, I started to pull the moss and
roots aside. "Oh God, here's a leg bone. The roots
have even grown into it. They're digesting it,
feeding off it. They're eating our friends."
Sobbing, I fell down, hugging my old friends.
"There's nothing left. They're just part of the
trees now."

"It looks like they were holding each other when
something happened here. Come on; let's get out of
here."

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

Back at camp, both of us terribly down. A quick
meal, and then I needed some closeness, comforting.
God, what a mess. 592 and I went to bed, but my
mind kept cycling back to what we had found. I'd
think I was getting through it, and then I'd start
sobbing again. I needed to break the cycle. 592
held me through it all. A rock, even in his despair
and angst.

Eventually, he started to get aroused. When I felt
his erection pushing into my stomach through my
clothes, I started wanting him too; I needed all
the closeness I could get. I massaged him through
his clothes. I'd get wet. But every time I'd just
get myself to the point of desire, the image of the
forms in the clearing would come back again; I'd
start another session of crying. I'd get through
that one, I'd get wetter still, and then I'd hear
the bugs around us again; I'd think about the trees
eating the bugs, the trees eating our friends, and
I'd start crying again. Trapped by my own emotions!

Finally, desperately, I said to 592, "Look, I've
got to distract my mind. I know you're ready, but I
don't think I can do this alone. I know we're not
supposed to use the big stuff ourselves, but let's
get out our recording equipment. With the
reflectors and projectors, I'll be able to keep my
mind focused. I've got to stop this. I feel like my
mind is coming apart. With the machines, I'll be
able to stay focused. I need to be as close to you
as possible. I've just got to get some release. I
need to feel you in me, but I need to be there too.
At this rate, I'll never make it, let alone make it
to a climax."

So, we set up our professional, INTERSEX recording
equipment, focusing it on our sleeping area. I took
the hand control to bed with us. What a relief! As
soon as I lay down, I sensed how complete a
difference there would be. Now I'd be able to stay
focused.

As I lay there, spoon-fashion with 592, I told him,
"Just hold me like this for a few minutes, until I
get myself together." His erection was pushed into
my back, and his leg was hooked over mine. Finally,
I was able to focus again; I felt like myself
again, mostly in control. "OK, my mind is feeling
calmer. Come and get me."

Wriggling against him, I worked around until he was
positioned just right, and then I pushed down. His
arms were still tight around me. Now I felt totally
under control, my buns in his lap and him pushing
up into the center of me. I pushed the button to
increase the power of the projectors and ground my
hips down into his lap. The world contracted to my
skin, growing hotter and hotter. Reaching between
my legs to feel him briefly, I slowly pulled back
to rub myself to an incandescent orgasm. Perfect;
perfect. I'm back to myself, I thought, and I came
again.

Dripping sweat, I grabbed him and said, " Wait a
minute! Wait a minute! I want to catch my breath
and turn over. Let's finish with me on my hands and
knees." I slipped out and turned over and knelt
next to him. While I was at it, I punched the
button again to increase the power to the
projectors. Getting up on my knees and spreading
them for him, I felt his hand resting on my hip and
his wet erection against my leg. I was so wet, it
was running down my leg.

I was ready, but nothing happened. He seemed
frozen.

I twitched my hip under his hand and bumped it
against his leg, once, twice. Nothing! "Well," I
said, "Did you forget how to do it" and I nudged
him again; still nothing. Anger started to compete
with desire. "Hey Loverboy! Wake up!" Turning my
head to look back, I saw that he was looking over
me with his hand still resting on my hip. His face
was blank, without a sign of arousal. Sarcasm
starting to take over, I said "Hello. Hello. It's
still down here if you still want a piece." But he
just gazed over me and pointed with his chin in the
direction he was looking.

Slowly, I turned my head to look in that direction.
And there, strolling from the woods, directly
toward us, were our dead friends, smiling and
holding hands. I turned back to 592. "Did you slip
a recording in while I wasn't looking? I'm not
amused."

He shook his head and said, "No. It wasn't me. No."
His gaze never wavered from the vision. I rolled
onto my side and sat up. I was about to speak to
them when they started talking to us.

"We guessed you would start the party without us.
Actually, we were afraid that you wouldn't use any
of the equipment, and then we wouldn't have been
able to talk to you. We've been waiting and
watching, hoping that you'd use the recorders, like
we did."

"What's happening here? I saw you in the clearing;
I saw your bodies in the clearing. What are you?"

"We're just who we always were. We were making a
recording of the trees in that clearing. It was
pretty boring, so we decided to play a bit. As we
lay there with our minds drifting in an afterglow
from sex, we became aware of the trees through the
projectors. It's that simple. We just kind of
joined in. The trees don't really have a
consciousness, and ours got imprinted on them. We
just drifted away and became the forest, the whole
world really. All of the plants on this planet are
connected in some small way into a huge not-quite-
conscious net. Well, it wasn't conscious until we
joined in. We didn't even notice we were out of our
bodies until later."

She said, "We've missed you. Come on. Come look at
this world with us. We'll show you around."

We both stood up, and the four of us started toward
the forest. 592 said, "I haven't felt this free for
years. It's like going home." He turned to me and
said, "You know, I was looking for this feeling
when I talked about retiring and going back to my
hometown. I think I'm home now." And the three of
them started walking toward the wood.

I looked back at the camp and saw my own body lying
there. "Wait a minute! Wait a minute!" They turned
to look at me. "What about us? What happening to
us? What will happen to our bodies?"

"Us? We're no different. We're just who we always
were. Out here, your bodies can feed the grass,
just like ours are feeding the trees, just like the
grasslands feed the insects to the trees. Come on;
we have a whole world to see, to play in."

"No! I'm not ready for this. No! I won't feed the
trees." And I used all my will to hold to my body.
Straining, I raised my hand slowly and hit the
'Off' button. My three friends vanished in an
instant; I've never felt so alone, abandoned,
marooned.

I cried for a long time. I got angry. I wrecked the
camp, and then I cried some more. I even thought
about turning the projectors back on; I knew they
were waiting for me, calling to me. So I threw the
projectors into the pond. I threw his body into the
woods and never looked back. "Feed your damn
trees," I yelled. Somehow, I managed to take off
without crashing; I'll never know how.

From space, the world was once again a green
marble, deceptively calm and inviting. I hated it
all. The weather fronts were still dark on the
grass. Through my tears, I thought I could see the
grove of trees where my dead friends were.

Suddenly, something changed on the planet. Somehow
the grasslands looked disorganized, then they
flashed entirely dark, then light, then patchy and
changing. Suddenly, the grass was all light, and
slowly the image of a hand making a thumbs-up
gesture formed on the steppes. It vanished, and I
turned a camera on. Slowly the surface changed
again. This time a face appeared in the grass,
filling the whole side of the planet that faced me:
592's face; he smiled, winked, and then he was
gone. The weather fronts formed again on the grass
as I cried against the glass. Even now, the trees
would be eating him.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

". . . why is it winking? And this poem is a bit
much; kind of maudlin, isn't it?"

"Like I said, it was a going-away gift from a
friend; I don't talk about it. And the poem is
mine. I like it, so shut up!"

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =


I've looked for you, my friend
On mountains and in mists of fields
I thought I heard your voice and saw your face,
But I haven't found you yet.
And in some quiet place in the sea of grass,
Where you play, no sound is ever heard