An Unexpected Detour

Dr Carr surveyed his surroundings – the terrain was so mountainous that he had no hope of finding the horizon. The atmosphere was non-toxic, but he allowed his oxygen mask to work at full capacity anyway. You could never be too careful with these randomly scattered planets.

The doctor desperately needed to find a body of water that would refuel his Craft. In a matter of days, he was expected to give a lecture at the University of New Congo on the benefits of sexual suppressants, and he was certain not to make it if he did not refuel within the next twenty-four hours. This possibility, however, did not stress him. The truth was that, like most people from his world, Carr was relatively unfamiliar with the term ‘stress.’ It was a phenomenon he hadn’t experienced since childhood, and his only encounter with it as an adult had been witnessing it take its grip on a co-worker as a young doctor. This co-worker had, without warning, dropped an entire beaker of hydrochloric acid before beginning to perspire and tremble uncontrollably. The young man had even cursed himself, using words that had been phased out of the human language for hundreds of years. While Dr Carr had watched this event with deep fascination, pity was what he had felt most. After all, pity was one of the few emotions society did not frown upon, because to pity someone was to acknowledge their fault and ensure one did not replicate it. The man’s treatment had been simple: a quick examination of the chemical balance in his brain followed by a temporarily strong dose of mood suppressants.

An unusually cool breeze whipped across the doctor’s bald head, making him suddenly remember where he was. Out of habit, he slid a hand into his pocket and pulled out a device that monitored all physiological changes: his pulse was higher than it should be and his pupils were dilated by five hundred percent. He scolded himself for allowing something as trivial as the wind to arouse him in such a way. What if humanity could see me now, he thought. The last thing I want is people pitying me for being emotionally unhinged.

Another gust of wind brushed along his scalp, carrying with it the sound of laughter. Carr looked back and saw a tuft of what appeared to be dirty blonde hair whipping in the wind, right behind his Craft. Making his way around, he spotted a boy (or perhaps it was a girl) kneeling naked beside one of the small landing propellers; watching it spin in the breeze. He had rarely come into contact with children during his research, so he could only estimate the child’s age to be between six and nine years.

He addressed the child in the only fashion he knew: “Greetings, young person. My name is Dr Carr. I am an adult, aged sixty-one and seven months. Please state your name, age, and the names of any of your designated guardians. You are quite the handsome…” he faltered at the child’s sex, “Boy or girl.”

The mysterious youth stood to face the doctor, a totally blank expression on its face. Carr immediately realised that it was indeed a boy and felt a sudden wave of shame. It was not just the child’s naked, reddish-brown body that caused this, but the fact that the child had let his hair grow very, very long. There was nothing quite as shameful and self-absorbed as growing out one’s hair for all of humanity to see.

To distract himself from the sudden display, the doctor took another glance at his physiological reader and found everything to be in check, if not a little heightened. There was only one thing to do when confronted with such an unusual situation: question.

“Curiosity is the lifeblood of understanding,” he whispered to himself under the gentle hum of the oxygen mask.

“I, Dr Carr, age sixty-one and seven months, propose another question for you, young person. Is it possible for you to lead me to the nearest body of water? Or at least to one of your guardians who might know where to find one? My Craft here,” he patted the smooth shell of his vehicle, “needs it to get off your dull planet right away.”

The boy continued to stare blankly – fascinated by the doctor’s bare scalp that was beginning to drip with sweat. The doctor began to feel frustration gnaw at his mind and he rebuked himself for neglecting to bring any mood suppressants with him. Low water and no suppressants – the doctor was utterly shocked at his own carelessness.

At last he calmed himself and was about to repeat the question when the boy did the most unusual thing: he grabbed the doctor’s clean white sleeve and pointed at something out in the distance.

“At last,” Carr sighed. “I was afraid you wouldn’t be of any use to me.”

Together they began to cross the red landscape. The boy was relentless in his grip on the doctor’s sleeve and the dirty fingerprints irritated Carr more than he would have admitted. To make matters worse, the wind continuously whipped the boy’s sun-bleached hair into the doctor’s face, making him feel physically ill. It smelt worse than the oily, dusty pelt of a dead laboratory animal.

What affected Carr most, however, was how bizarre the landscape grew the further the travelled. Numerous rocky figures littered the red earth, all carved and posed with such meticulous detail that the doctor mistakenly thought they were other people. He had called out once, hoping to gain their attention, only to be rewarded with an insolent, guttural laugh from the boy.

They finally slowed, just as one particular rock figure towered in the distance. The boy uttered a single, raspy sound and pointed towards it. The statue, which looked about eight metres tall, guarded exactly what the doctor had been waiting for: a magnificent, crystalline lake.

“Excellent, child! Humanity is so proud of you,” the doctor cheered as he tried to break the boy’s grip, to no avail. Every tug just made the boy tighten it.

“Now see here,” the doctor spoke with a voice so loud it rattled his oxygen mask. “You have completed your purpose so let go of me. I have no more use for you. Don’t expect society to call on you again if you continue to act this way.”

The child, however, paid no attention. He dragged the doctor over to the foot of the statue, which was actually a gigantic kneeling man. At its foot were a set of primitive metal tools and a large book, similar to those displayed at the University. The boy finally released his grip and raced towards the tools, picking them up with a supreme grin. The thought of approaching him to take some water sent waves of nausea through the doctor. What if this had all been a trick, he thought? Would the boy kill me with those barbaric tools and take my Craft? What if he meant to fly off and leave me on this dull rock forever?

The doctor knew that nobody in civilisation would ever come looking for him –his absence would render him useless to the University and therefore not worth worrying about. Somebody else would speak at his lectures, continue his research, and fill in the gaps he had left behind.

He met the child’s eyes, looked into that gaping smile and felt his chest tighten. One glance at his physiology reader showed the numbers soaring. Carr’s stomach quivered with the realisation that there were light-years of dead space between him and the nearest mood suppressants. If nothing else, he wanted one of those small, sweet pills.

“Fine!” Dr Carr finally screeched at the boy. “Do you want to kill me? Go ahead and do it, you damned, stupid, primitive child! You will never know what civilised life is like. You would sooner kill me than learn what it is to be me, because I am older and better and smarter than you! If you ever did a damned thing in your life that required an education you would fail at it, because you are nothing but a stupid, evil, wretched little vermin!”

His outburst shocked the smile right off the boy’s face. His tools fell to the dusty floor and before the doctor could scream out another curse, the young primitive was off; streaking along the edge of the water until he was out of sight.

Carr could hear his own racing breath through the oxygen mask. It suddenly dawned on him that he had used certain curse words for the first time in his life. It was physically sickening. What was to become of a great doctor who was lost on an isolated planet? Would he really change from a civilised man to a savage?

No, how stupid he thought. The boy was gone, the water was still there. All he had to do was take enough back to his Craft and make the rest of the journey. If he was vigorous, he might make enough trips to refuel the Craft completely in under twenty-four hours, presuming he didn’t come across the little vermin again.

The doctor’s eyes, however, were suddenly drawn to the open book at the foot of the statue. Its page depicted a kneeling man, exactly like the enormous sculpture. Carr recognised it – it was an image of Narcissus from ancient Greek mythology. He had never paid much attention to the old tales; they were often regarded as whimsical and childish compared to the great sciences, but he felt himself drawn to it nonetheless.

Picked it up and turning the old pages, he saw they were filled with stories of not only Greek, but Roman and even English mythology. Each story was accompanied by a detailed drawing, many of which he recalled seeing in the sculptures on the trek across the landscape. He gazed back at the statue, which was largely unfinished, and he was suddenly filled with a curiosity that defied anything ever felt before. I could help create this image, he thought. I have the tools, I have the book. This is no different to my science. Only… his mind struggled with these new ideas, will I be able to make it perfect? Like the perfect suppressant? Will I have the same result every time I replicate this?

For once in his life there was no scientific formula or textbook to help answer his question. This spawned a frightening excitement in him. There was no certainty of success, nor was there any foreseeable value in the final product. It was creation for its own sake. He was light-years from civilisation. The university could make do without him, just this once. And the moment he returned to civilised life he would be welcomed with as many emotional suppressors as he needed. For now, perhaps he could afford to break social conformity, if only for a little while.

He took the metal chisel in his hand, cleaned off the dust and looked up at the looming face of Narcissus. Rather, the face that would soon be there – Carr saw the face in his mind and projected it onto the surface of the rock. It would be like giving birth to something, an event he had never ever considered partaking in.

He climbed onto Narcissus’ mighty knee and traced two eyes onto the dusty rock-face with a finger, before finally setting steel to stone.

The doctor chiselled until long after his oxygen mask failed and he breathed natural, unfiltered air. He chiselled until the battery in his physiological reader died and he was statistically, or at least numerically, dead. He even continued to chisel after the savage boy returned, watching inquisitively as his adversary partook in his own favourite activity. After a while, the sweat from the top of the doctor’s head began to catch on a new crop of grey, fuzzy hair. He grew oblivious to the dust and moisture that sullied his clothes since every day was filled with exciting new emotions that humankind had not experienced in years. At sixty-one years and seven months of age, Dr Carr was learning what it was to feel.