On the Reptilian Planet
Surprisingly, Orlov was a genuinely kind hearted man and only truly carried hatred for one thing: his job on the junior research team of the planetary research agency, a not so bright lot only sent out on the most mundane of errands. Orlov landed on the reptilian planet before dawn, when the sky was still dark. He saw burrows and caves scattered all over the landscape, so he called out, very simply, ‘Hello!’
As expected, there was no answer, as the reptilians are heavy sleepers. There was a cave not far away with a wide entrance where he could easily walk upright. He entered and walked for about a minute through the winding passage before everything turned to blackness. He took his torch out of his pocket and switched it on, revealing swarms and swarms of reptilians wrapped around each other in spirals across the walls and ceiling of the cave.
‘Hissssss!’ They protested at being awoken, bearing their teeth.
‘I’m sorry for waking you. All I want is to ask a few questions and I’ll be gone. It’ll only take 5 minutes.’
He spoke clearly and remained calm, just as he was advised to. An elderly reptilian slithered down through the swarm and raised himself up on his tail in front of him.
‘Maybe we would’ve done what you ask if you came at a reasonable time and not in the middle of the night. Now there is no chance.’
‘It’s actually morning. Your sun should rise within the next hour. It is common on my planet to wake before sunrise.’
The elder made a disgusted face, his eyebags sagging half way down his cheeks.
‘Well, you are not on your planet. You can’t expect our help if you do not respect our routines. Now be gone!’
The elder bared a pair of especially long fangs. Something about his sunburnt, leathery face gave Orlov a strange sense of deja vu.
‘Fine, I guess I must report back to my planet that you are a rude and inhospitable bunch.’
‘Please do and maybe less of your kind will bother us! Go!’
Orlov complied, leaving the cave and heading back to his ship. He had gotten all the information he needed. He would write on his report sheet: ‘No new development on the reptilian planet.’ That one sentence is the only outcome this expedition required, a simple yes or no, a ticking of a box. The reptilian planet expeditions were a truly mundane bureaucratic custom. The planet had remained exactly the same since its discovery over two centuries ago, with absolutely no evolution or social development of any kind, but the agency still sent out a clerk every ten years to check if anything had changed lest the reptilians grow to become a threat. Orlov found the idea of the reptilians being a threat laughable. Of course, they looked quite fearsome, but like the similar creatures that used to live on the home planet they only really cared about eating, sleeping, and generally staying alive.
‘I wonder why such a planet might’ve been created, where the creatures show clear signs of cognition and yet add nothing to the universe. Nothing would change if the reptilian planet were to cease to exist right this moment.’ Orlov thought. He imagined the magnificent people from his own planet, who added much to the universe and had many points to their existence, unlike the reptilians. But, since he was kind hearted, he remembered he shouldn’t hate what he can’t understand, as that is the birthplace of evil.
‘Why hasn’t anyone studied the reptilians more closely?’ He asked himself, and realized he did not know. He poured hot water from the kettle over a scoop of instant coffee in his ship's kitchen and sat down comfortably with it, like a great thinker. The rising sun shone through the window, creating a majestic scene which inspired Orlov to wax poetic and imagine that his opportunity to be a real researcher had come.
‘I’ll stay and research them. At least for a few days.’
-
The coffee did little to revive Orlov from the exhaustion of his night long journey. He wrote one frantic journal entry which deliriously droned over his noble guerilla reptilian research project before drawing the blinds and falling into a deep, dark sleep. He dreamt that he was an anchorite in the desert, reading his holy texts in the blazing sun each day from dawn until dusk. It was a huge, orange desert, with caves and burrows. Already he was settling in well.
When he awoke the sun was directly above the earth, droning above him like a satellite. Nothing cast a shadow at this hour, giving the landscape a sense of the unreal; Orlov wondered if he was still in his anchorite dream. Hundreds of reptilians lay baking in the heat, motionless, as if they were playing dead. There was no sight of the elder, to Orlov’s relief. He approached a small reptilian with some coarse, black hair who lay not so far away.
‘Excuse me?’ He suddenly realised he had no idea what to say.
The reptilian looked up at him with muddy yellow eyes.
‘They don’t speak english, fool. Only I do.’
Orlov froze in fear as the elder slowly slithered into his field of vision, seemingly out of nowhere. They stood there, metres apart, their eyes locked into a shared stare. Finally, Orlov spoke.
‘How’s that?’
The serpent looked almost offended, but alas was too nonchalant in the moment for such an emotion.
‘Think about it. Be the anchorite of our planet for a while.’
Orlov stood like a statue as the elder retreated. The sun had shifted, and the creature now cast a slight shadow that danced across the sand as he moved.
-
Because Orlov was not so bright, he managed to look into this cryptic threat as an invitation.
‘The elder wants me here - The dream was a sign. There is no hope of learning anything about the reptilians if I do not follow his lead,’ he wrote in his journal, giving his account of the afternoon. He drew a crude drawing of the elder, but gave little consideration to anything he had alluded to, hooked instead on the anchorite part. He drew himself as an old fashioned anchorite, with tattered robes and long hair, before looking briefly around his ship.
‘This simply won’t do. If I am to be a real anchorite, I must live in a cave, or something of that sort. I’ll come back to the ship only for food and water once a day. I’ll bring with me only my pen and my journal, to write down my findings. This is how the mystery of the reptilian planet shall be solved.’
-
Orlov walked and walked across the scorching sand until there were no reptilians in sight. It seemed that they all swarmed together in a relatively small area, leaving the rest of the planet untouched. He imagined his lonely ship somewhere far, far away, but had no second thoughts, as he was on the brink of huge scientific discovery. He imagined fanfare and glory. In the now setting sun, his shadow became long and purple. He felt like a great obelisk and fancied the elder as his sphinx. Everything was in perfect harmony. Suddenly, he felt as if he was falling. The sand gave way and he sank deeper and deeper, unable to free himself, until he landed in a small stone room with a high ceiling. The elder swiftly pulled a lever to close this ceiling, lest any more sand fall in. A single candle burned on a stone stand, illuminating his shrivelled face, where wrinkles were etched deeper than valleys.
‘Who ever heard of an anchorite choosing his cell? This is where you shall remain.’
There was a silence as Orlov tried to comprehend where he was.
‘For how long? Is this a prison?’
The elder smiled.
‘Prison is a cold, harsh word. Everything is what you say it is. This may well be your sanctuary.’
Orlov’s gaze was locked in on the candle. He breathed slowly and intentionally. Sand sprinkled down from the ceiling.
‘I must leave you now. I’ll be back for you, I’m not a heathen.’
Before Orlov could say anything the elder exited with greater speed than Orlov thought possible for the reptilians through a small trap door, locking it behind him.
Orlov was stuck in motionless trance for so long that the candle burnt out.
‘Quite nice.’ He thought, his mind small and stunted. ‘Quite nice when it’s dark.’
He closed his eyes and opened them again. There was no difference. He did not even try the trap door. He simply lay down and slept, his thick suit protecting him from the coarse, dry sand.
‘Very warm. Quite nice.’
-
Orlov awoke gasping for air in the darkness, finding himself stripped of his helmet and suit. His skin was raw from the coarse sand. Everything burned. He coughed a great deal and hit his head on the stone wall. To his horror, he heard the sound of something cracking: A deep, dry, heavy crack. Within a moment, an avalanche of sand was raining down on him. Orlov clawed at the falling sand, flailing his limbs like a frog and sealing his eyes shut as tightly as he could. Plenty went into his mouth, absorbing the little moisture he felt he had left in his body. In his delirium, he thought for a moment that he was successfully clawing his way upwards, as if he was swimming to the surface of a hot, black lake. He was no longer consciousness; only force. His limbs became heavy, like leather husks filled with gravel, but he kept moving in whatever way he could. The sand seemed to make way for him, slowly but surely, and not before long it seemed to glow red, then yellow, then white. Orlov has made it to the surface, greeted by unquestionable, overpowering light. He lay there, exhausted from his exertion, until his skin turned leathery and his nails grew into claws. When he regained consciousness, he saw the elder towering in front of him against the setting sun.
‘Orlov. It’s cold on the surface at night. Return to your burrow and sleep there.’
His head heavy with sleep, Orlov slithered lethargically back into the sand, which was indeed nice and warm. He thought about the sand, and he thought about the night. He thought about the sun and the heat, and how its light had strained his eyes. He fell into a deep, dark sleep.
