Science Fiction Fantasy / SF Novel / eBook

Those Who Live Forever

Klonoa

"See you tomorrow Lamenaf," screamed Klonoa as Lamenaf tore off with a simultaneous six wheel burn. For some reason she liked him, a reason she was unable to understand.

Klonoa smiled at the logo on the rear window saying 'Fusion Injection.' The 'Female Wanted' sticker had been ripped off months ago against Lamenaf’s pleas. One look up at her mother's gaze told Klonoa of her mother's distaste at the freshly formed two inch deep ruts in the gravel drive just visible through the cloud of dust where the red Carpra-Six had been moments previously.

Not long after Klonoa had raked the drive, she stood in her bedroom, staring into her Gloder Wardrobe. Week days always posed a fashion problem. Her best was kept for the weekend and the weather was too cold for her string blouse and mini skirt. 'It will have to be the knee length dark blue with light blue checks skirt, silk light blue top, and laced suspenders,' she thought. Pleased at her choice, Klonoa ran down the ramp to the lower part of the house where the eldest android was laying the table. "What's for dinner?" The teenager inquired from within the fridge.

"Delicate cuts of Plumevilee covered in a sweet Ollo Sauce, served with a variety of greens and reds," droned the drone.

"Sounds tasty. Aha, I've found what I'm looking for. Who took all the ice?" Klonoa closed the fridge door. A couple of tugs at the ring pull preceded the taking of a long thirst quenching drink. A 'clunk' came from the hall, soon followed by the Lady-Of-The-House. At a swift glance, one was able to see where Klonoa inherited her good looks. Helifloe had won many a beauty contest, two on Jun the third moon of Gee in the Rundud system some 5.7 light-years to the north of the galactic plane, and three here on Moworth. It was Helifloe’s husband, Klonoa’s father who had started the lady on her road to modeling and away from seedy nightspots where the eighteen year old had to work to make her living after her parents died and auntie had stolen her fortune. He worked for a firm that manufactured Prestigious Planetary Saloons, holidaying at the time when he spotted her in a field, picking flowers. PPS's (the company having the same name) marketing department had tried for months to come up with a satisfactory image for his new vehicle, though never to his taste. Dem, while watching Helifloe, pondered the niceties of leaving cities and machines, to drive somewhere to escape from life. 'The Liberated Craft,' he thought. Getting on to his boss, who thought the idea to be pretty smart, resulted in the shipping out of a team of lawyers to sign up the lady of Dem’s aspirations. None of his mates ever matched the uniqueness of this chat-up line. One thing led to another which led to their first born, which led to their marriage. On his home planet it is customary for a lady to become engaged on impregnation. Marriage took place when the first child was born and abortions always lead to divorce.

The product took off like no other (Zero to Mach Two in eight seconds) and sold very well, so well in fact, that Dem was promoted and his salary doubled.

Klonoa was their third child. The eldest daughter moved out years ago with her boyfriend and has since got engaged (pregnant) and the second child was a still birth. Both daughters are as beautiful as their mother. To describe Klonoa is difficult. She stood about 1.78 meters tall, had dark hair, gray eyes, weighed about fifty-eight kilograms, fair skinned, very well proportioned, very intelligent, and to say she had a good set of curves was an understatement. Klonoa was the sort of girl who turned heads and got pestered by dozens of 'night-wolves' whenever she went out in the evenings.

"So how's your day been mother?" Klonoa asked.

"Very well thank you. We clinched another contract." Helifloe gave up modeling when Klonoa was born. She now ran her own Promotions and Glamor Business that had an unbeaten reputation throughout nine star systems and was still expanding. She had two hundred and eleven professional women on her books, fifty-seven men, and interviewed a good four hundred young hopefuls every year. These figures do not include the three thousand part-timers she occasionally had the need for on odd assignments.

***

That night, Klonoa decided to get more than her usual sleep, so she hit the sack about one thirty am. Klonoa pulled her sheets to her chin, closed her eyes and thought of going on a long trip with her boyfriend. Warmth rolled across her body, silence fell and those gray eyes flickered as Klonoa almost immediately entered REM sleep. She felt a sudden movement, the sort one gets while watching a plane crashing on telly, knowing you are not moving, yet still aware of the thrill of speed. What appeared to be a few minutes later, the young sleeper found herself sitting in a patterned cloth seat in a long vehicle. Looking up and down the isle led to her concluding she was in a tube-transporter, the fluorescent lights in the ceiling buzzing with adequate brightness. The carriage was empty except for a few cans, a newspaper, and screwed up food wrappers. Interior surfaces were tastefully painted in a blue-white color to match the blue and gray criss cross pattern on the seats. 'Well at least it's warm,' thought Klonoa as she felt the movement of air across her feet. Her attention was turned towards the window. The blind was down so she pulled the string and it whizzed up. Outside, the brickwork rushed by, interrupted now and again by holes where repair technicians temporarily stood as trains passed. A sudden silence preceded a star speckled sky.

"We are now approaching Bowlhill Junction. Will those leaving the MagneTran please make sure they take all their belongings with them," crackled a disembodied voice from a speaker in the ceiling.

'Well at least that bit is no different from home,' thought Klonoa. She felt her body thrust forward as the train slowed to a halt. The station was large, well lit, but somewhat quiet. Klonoa was just about to get up and disembark when she spied a figure on the platform. Dark and shaded, the figure opened a door and entered the carriage at the far end. After closing the same door, he removed his coat and slung it across a seat. He stood tall, broad, and well tanned. Klonoa turned away and looked down at the book she had not realized was in her hand.

"Excuse me," said the stranger, leaning on the opposite seat. "Do you happen to know which way the buffet car is?"

"That way," she replied, pointing behind, not releasing her gaze from the book.

"Would you like anything?" He asked politely.

Klonoa closed her book, crossed her legs and looked up. "A fizzy drink and a couple of sandwiches please," she said.

"Keep it," he said, closing Klonoa's warm hand over the money she offered. Klonoa turned and watched Mr 'X' leave the carriage.

A few minutes later, Mr 'X' returned, smiled, and walked passed to find the buffet car at the other end of the train. 'Oops,' thought Klonoa.

A further few minutes later and he returned with his hands full. "May I?" He spoke while nodding towards the seat opposite.

"Be my guest," said Klonoa.

The stranger carefully placed the food and drink on the table. Satisfied with its stability, he asked, "Have you been traveling long?"

"Who are you?" She interrupted, again turning to look out of the window.

"Just call me Frodge," he replied. "I'm the best pilot on Yccarry. And you?"

"Klonoa," she said. "The fastest girl in Dfaf, on Moworth." Klonoa turned and smiled at Frodge, who, flummoxed with great originality, smiled back.

"You have not answered my first question yet," he said.

"I boarded in the tunnel," she replied.

"Interesting!" Frodge said.

"Why?"

"Because there is no station in the tunnel," he explained.

"This is certainly a weird dream," said Klonoa.

"You too eh! Let's drink to weird dreams," said Frodge as he poured a liquid that tasted like sparkling wine into two glasses that were not there just now. Both of them paused and looked up at a clown walking on her hands along the corridor. Klonoa and Frodge noticed the two glasses looking, and followed their gazes. The clown would have passed their attention unnoticed had she not been walking upside down on the ceiling.

Klonoa looked blankly at Frodge and asked, "Is that," pointing upwards, "your imagination or mine?"

"Not mine," replied Frodge, shaking his head.

"Oh!"

"How about going for a walk?" Frodge asked after a droid took away emptied containers that had previously held the now eaten food and drunken drink.

"Ok," she replied while getting up from her seat.

Frodge followed suit, the blue floating one behind Klonoa, as they both strode towards the front of the carriage, where the suit decided to sit down and read a newspaper.

A door hissed open to reveal a cabin similar to that of a large passenger jet. The party walked passed three hijackers wearing ski jackets and aiming bottles of anti-dandruff shampoo at each other, who apologized for getting in the way. Half the passengers held hands in the air, and the other half were going through the first two quarters' pockets.

On passing through the next doorway, Klonoa grabbed Frodge's arm and asked earnestly. "Is this really my imagination?"

"It sure is," he replied. "You should see mine sometime."

"I'll hold your word to that," said Klonoa.

"Ah. Just what I've been looking for," interrupted Frodge.

"What's that?"

"A manhole," said Frodge as he levered it up. "After you."

Klonoa peeped through, only to see a long spiral wooden staircase.

At the bottom of the staircase was a medium sized mahogany looking door. A letter box flapped and the mat said welcome whenever it was trodden on. When pushed open, the door revealed a large reception room. "It's beautiful," she said, glistening in the eyes.

"Now this is my imagination," said Frodge.

"Have you visited many places?" She asked inquisitively.

"Too numerous to remember." Frodge clicked his fingers. "Forgive my rudeness," he said. "May I take your coat?"

On removing her coat, Frodge concluded this to be a question worthy of askance at their first meeting on the train, for underneath she was wearing a silk tight mini-skirt and a vest like garment that came down to five centimeters above the navel. "May I get you a drink?" He gasped.

"I'll have the same as you."

"Take a seat," shouted Frodge from around the corner.

To pass the time, Klonoa took a good look around the room. It was indeed well furnished. Chairs, the sofa, and the three coffee tables all matched perfectly. Wooden paneled walls gave an air of chilliness, as though the place was haunted. Furniture was black except for the wooden parts and lamps clustered around the walls, flickering in the same undetectable breeze that flapped the letter box. Portraiture hung around the room on all five walls, above a continuous book shelf which protected books with untarnished glass. 'Quite a few old classics must be in here,' Klonoa thought to herself, although she was unable to interpret the writings.

At the far end stood two doors. The one on the left led to a hall, and the one on the right to a bedroom. When Frodge returned, Klonoa swung this second one open and stood in the doorway.

"I see you found the rest room," said Frodge looking into her dilating gray eyes and handing over a drink. "Cheers." They both took a sip.

"What is this drink?" Klonoa whispered over the burning sensation in her throat.

"It's a home brewed spirit," replied Frodge. "Do you like it?"

"It's very nice," she replied with a giggle. "It makes me feel so warm and relaxed."

Frodge placed a hand on Klonoa's shoulder. "Please sit down," he said as he pointed to the sofa.

As Frodge sat down, Klonoa asked, "Who are all these people?"

"Friends and family," started Frodge as he got up and approached one of the five walls. "Take these two here. The lady on the left is my parent. My father is on the right."

Klonoa sat up confused. "Isn't your father one of your parents as well?" asked Klonoa.

"No," started Frodge. "Males do not survive conception."

"How come?" asked Klonoa. Frodge dropped his head at this question. Klonoa realized she had touched a sour spot, and asked, "I like your place. Why do you have so many books?"

Frodge smiled. "They are all memories. You saw the hallway. Each door holds a memory, unlocked by placing a book in the panel. Here, let me show you." Frodge walked over to the sofa and helped Klonoa rise to he feet. "Pick a book," he said.

"How can I if I cannot read the writing on the covers?" Klonoa asked.

Frodge went over to a drawer and removed a magnifying glass, which he presented to Klonoa. "Now try," he said.

Klonoa walked over to the books she tried to read earlier and took another look, this time through the magnifying glass. What she saw surprised even her high-tech mind. Klonoa looked around the glass and then through it again. It appeared to translate the text for her. The first book read, 'Dark And Dingy Caverns.' She did not like this one much. Frodge went back into the kitchen and brought out the bottle of spirit to top up their glasses whilst Klonoa shuffled along the bookcase.

"Surely you must have found something by now," he smiled as he handed her her silver embossed glass containing additional faint green liquid.

Klonoa smiled back. "I'm just trying to pick between these three," she said.

"Choose one. You can always try the rest another time," said Frodge.

"What about this one then," said Klonoa, and handed over a red book on Balloons.

Frodge smirked at her choice and winked at Klonoa. "Come on then," he said. On the way to the hall, the two dreamers picked up their coats. "After you," said Frodge as he opened the door to the hallway. On the other side were two other doors, one with a panel in which Frodge was about to place the book.

Klonoa put on her confused look once more. "I thought you said that each book matched a door. How come there are only two doors in here?"

"Three," said Frodge. "We came in through that one."

"Alright then," said Klonoa with a frown and her hands on her hips. "How come there are three?"

"Well," said Frodge.

"Well what?" Klonoa spoke after a pause, through which she waited for a further statement.

"No. No," said Frodge shaking his head. "Behind that door is a well. I know there is something down it, lodged in my subconscious that frightens me. What ever is down there I cannot tell you."

"Can you not guess at what is down it?" Klonoa asked.

"I have a feeling," said Frodge.

"Which is?" Klonoa asked.

"I think the story of my death is down there," smiled Frodge.

"Don't be so morbid," said Klonoa, slapping Frodge across the arm. She was beginning to like this not-now-so-strange stranger.

"I'm serious," smirked Frodge. "Every time I look down the well, I get the feeling of glancing into my future or my past. One or the other. There is a hole in the ceiling that continues upwards as well."

"You mean," said Klonoa with hand language to match her speech, "one way, say downwards, leads to your future, and the other way leads to your past."

"Something like that," said Frodge. "I prefer it to be the other way though. The thought of my future going down the well depresses me somewhat." He took the book from under Klonoa's arm, held it up in the air, and tapped it with the fingers of his right hand. How it got there, he did not know, under her arm that is. He knew how it got in the air, for he took it and placed it there. "You take the book and slot it into the panel like this." Frodge slotted the book into the panel.

Almost immediately, the hallway opened up. Westward (it felt that way) stretched the part of the hall that held the well door, and eastward (it felt that way too) disappeared the door leading into the front room. Both the floor and the ceiling stayed a sane distance from each other. Klonoa watched the door that held the panel containing the book of Balloons. It appeared to stretch out horizontally towards infinity. As it did so, it multiplied into two doors, each splitting again, and again, and again. The doors seemed to continue multiplying for more than twenty minutes. Klonoa watched the end ones curve into the distance.

When the ends disappeared, Klonoa turned back to Frodge and discovered the doors had actually discontinued their duplication. Frodge had trouble opening the door, so Klonoa kicked it, which in itself caused Frodge to stagger back and hold his head. "Ouch," he said. "Do you have to attack my memories like that?"

Klonoa apologized and gave Frodge a couple of pain killers that a little red bird brought in. It then joined the six other little red birds that flew around his head. Frodge, along with the birds, walked through the opening to the other side, followed very closely by Klonoa who held tight of his arm. After all, she did not know what was in his thoughts, and the unknown scared her.

Klonoa looked around the field they now stood in. Grassy mud squelched under her feet. Walking was not made any easier by the high heels she wore. Balloons littered the field, buzzed by fliers and spectators alike.

"Come on then," called Frodge from the top of a ladder welded to a light alloy container strung to a 75m high balloon. His head then vanished through the opening.

At the top of the ladder, Klonoa stopped to look around before entering the hatch hole. Frodge was sitting on a cushion inside, holding out her glass. Wind caught Klonoa's legs as she climbed in, throwing her forward. Crawling from a high ladder while wearing a tight mini skirt is not, for Klonoa anyway, the most delicate of situations to be in, especially when you fall head first into someone else's lap. "Sorry," said Frodge to the little birds now standing on the swinging lamp. As Klonoa impacted his stomach, Frodge had inadvertently released the alcoholic contents of his mouth.

Klonoa crawled to her feet and wiped the seven birds clean with her tissue. "I'm so sorry," she apologized to the birds. "I'm so sorry," she said as she looked at Frodge.

Frodge smiled, placed his arm across the two seater chair which had previously been a cushion, wiggled his finger in a 'come here, sit down right next to me, and hug me' motion, and smiled. Klonoa crawled over on her hands and knees and positioned herself between his arms. Frodge ran his left fingers through Klonoa's silken tan hair and pulled her head to his shoulder. With his right hand, Frodge pressed the button that closed the hatch, pressed the button that released the balloon from steel pins in the turf, and dimmed the lights. Klonoa then looked seductively into his eyes, opened her mouth and kissed him warmly, holding him tight within her grasp.

***

Klonoa's arm reached over delicately to hammer the off button on her peach colored, shell shaped alarm clock. Laying there quietly for a moment, she thought. 'Why do dreams have to be better than the real world.' Feeling her damp bed clothes, Klonoa concluded she did not wish to attend college but felt she had to and decided it was time to wash. On her way to the sink, Klonoa passed her full length mirror hanging from a nail embedded in her Gloder Wardrobe, hesitated, took one step back, and took a good look at herself. "Shloytch! You look awful," gasped Klonoa at her appearance. Taking hold of her hair, she threw it back, and pulled her collar tight around her neck. "What's that?" She thought, feeling a lump on the side of her neck, moving closer to the mirror, shaking her head to stop those wide gray eyes from going double vision. No abrasion was visible but her soft skinned fingers felt a mark that was obviously not there. Klonoa was halfway out of her nightdress when it clicked. The dream. In it, the tall dark stranger kissed her on the neck. Was this some psychological wishing on her part? Shivering back to the present, Klonoa laughed. She certainly did look silly as she stood there upright and naked with her hands around her neck. 'Like a slave,' she thought.

Hot steamy water more than refreshed Klonoa. On went her usual perfume, back went her tan hair, and on went studious clothing. At the window, Klonoa pulled the blind and opened the vent for fresh air before she went downstairs for breakfast.

Seeing the fruit juice the eldest droid had placed beside her bowl made Klonoa thirsty so she picked it up to drink. It was sunny outside, so Klonoa stepped out on to the balcony. Leaning on the railings, one deep breath was taken. Evergreen odor was very pungent at this time of the year. Deep purple sky glowed in the morning sun due to the comet that hit the other side of Dfaf two thousand four hundred and three years ago. Dusty fallout was a nuisance but nonetheless produced a sight comparable with solar ionic bombardment, that is the northern / southern lights during winter / summer nights.

As you can imagine, ridding the upper atmosphere of millions of tons of dust was quite a feat and an engineering first in this part of the galaxy. Many contractors were approached, most saying. "That's impossible." Of those that said they were able to do the job, the cheapest quote came from a company based on Fgogue. What was the price? You may indeed ask. Contracts were priced at 4.7 trillion units of currency. At today's rates that would be twenty-seven quadrillion dollars. Government strategists at the time had a very novel way of dealing with the cost. Following the four thousand megaton explosion and blackout, industry virtually ground to a halt. Bureaucracy decided to regulate imports, taking control of all such orders and payments. It persuaded the contracting firm to accept Moworth's currency as payment and handed over the check after the job was completed. Both worlds were members of the North Galactic Clearing Bank.

After handing over the check, the Bank Of Moworth went into overdrive, printing new bank notes. When the check reached the clearing stage two days later, the result was that it was worth very little of the contractor's own currency. Rubber stamping the transfer of funds preceded a massive destruction of the excess notes to bring currency rates to the level they stood before the transaction. Loopholes like this one still exist to the unwary, although attitudes are heading towards a unified currency.

Many years passed before the industrial base stood proudly on its own two feet once more. The rationalization that took place made industry, arguably, far more efficient and competitive in the export market. Regrettably, though, the payment trick had unwanted side effects on inflation.

***

One afternoon in the following week, at college, Klonoa looked out of her seminar room's window at trees bending in the wind. Haze covered the college grounds, dull in the cloud filtered sunlight. All of a sudden, a chill, as though a breeze had picked up, came over Klonoa. Sweet smells of vegetation hung in the air and what felt like moisture clung to her arms. "Damn," (rough interpretation of an Yccarry swear word by Klonoa) spoke a voice, or was it a voice. Everyone else were digging their noses into text books. Smells became more intense, like willow after fog lifts. All too soon, Klonoa felt a presence up above her, in front of her face. Wishing she had not looked up, Klonoa's eyes shot down in horror. In front of her was a person she knew, not physically, but an image from within her mind, from within her dreams. Shrut pollen from the flower of the same name blew into the sunset. Klonoa gulped. He stood there with outstretched arms, half his jaw blown off, with overhead viewer slides visible through the hole in his neck. Blood shot out of the left side of his neck, saliva dripped to the ground, and Frodge's eyes boiled as he collapsed in the dirt. All of this was too much for Klonoa, who screamed. Class mates jumped out of their skins to see a fellow student vanish through the doorway at the back. Mr Derhohg, the lecturer, nodded to Xnarleese, Klonoa's best friend, expressing that she had his permission to run after her friend to comfort her, whatever it was that she needed comforting from.

Xnarleese ran down the hall, passed two banks of head high lockers, one with a bent key stuck in its lock, that Vars, another friend, was unable to remove earlier. Shooting through two sets of double fire doors, just managing to avoid Vars returning from the materials area with a hefty pair of pliers, Xnarleese yelled "Can't stop," in his ear, which led Vars to drop the pliers in shock and yell at his foot for not getting out of the way in time. Xnarleese was in too much of a hurry to stop and apologize, so she left him hopping down the corridor. Turning the next corner, she passed lecture theaters B and C, ploughed through another set of double doors, down stairs, and into the ladies room.

Faint sobbing floated from the third cubicle on the right. Xnarleese pulled open the door and stared at Klonoa, her eyeshadow all blurred and dark tan hair tangled around her fingers.

"You certainly look a mess," said Xnarleese, kneeling down until their heads were about level. "What's up with you, freaking out like that? You've never been like this before. Tell me what's up," she comforted.

"You'll just laugh at me," Klonoa sobbed. "They will all laugh at me."

'She's most definitely in a poor state,' thought Klonoa's best friend, putting her arm around Klonoa's shoulders and taking hold of her shaking hand. She then thought it more appropriate to hold Klonoa's shaking hand instead.

After a few more minutes and a little more sobbing, Klonoa agreed to let Xnarleese help her to her feet. "Come to the common room and tell me all about it," whispered Xnarleese. Bells rang up and down the corridor as the two of them exited the ladies room. Not much walking brought them to the 8th year common room. Hot drinks bubbled in the corner on a table that the cleaner had either forgotten about or ignored completely out of shear stubbornness. Xnarleese put Klonoa down in another corner, obtained two hot drinks, and snarled at anyone attempting to bother her best friend, to whom she passed one of the drinks.

"There you go," said Xnarleese, clapping Klonoa on her bent over back. "You have more color back now. Mind you, you should have seen your face in the seminar."

Two people in the same seminar class came over only to be waved off by Xnarleese.

Klonoa smirked. "It must have been funny," she said. "But it felt so strange and so real."

"So, why don't you tell me all about it?" Xnarleese suggested.

***

Klonoa strode down the ramp leading to the college tube station, placed underground to preserve the countryside, initially sited below the surface during the unnatural ice-age created by the bombarding comet. 'What a weird daydream,' she thought while descending on one of the two escalators. Then she laughed to herself. Xnarleese had helped a lot in the common room, putting forward probable hypotheses for the vision, from hallucinating to exam pressure. 'But it can't be a daydream.' Klonoa was still not convinced, for it felt too real for pure imagination.