I always try to enjoy the peace and quiet of Buber. Even on a slow day like today there are supplies to purchase, rubbish to recycle, waste to jettison via any freighter willing to take it. Tasks lie on top of tasks. Sometimes a lack of staff makes this undertaking a constant struggle.
Then we get a story like the one last night, and I realise we have nothing to worry about.
Odettte’s spaceship was decked out in gold trim, and a crew of six monitored the vessel at all times. She only stopped by to bargain for a case of wine, and mentioned she was visiting her brother.
I knocked five percent off the bill in return for a parsniphead story. It was worth every penny.
O: ‘The universe still doesn’t have its act together. There are so many places where the parsnipheads still run rampant, and the Butter Mice don’t have the time or resources to deal with them. The war is over, but we no-one’s told half the soldiers.
Take where my brother lives. It’s twice the size of Jupiter, and ninety percent of the population succumbed to the disease in six months. Ninety percent! That’s about twenty billion people rotting, and still eating the crops. The planet is a dust bowl, and the survivors have left, or scratch out an existence.Yet my brother stayed.
Because of his topiary.
He snipped the hedges across two acres with meticulous precision into the shape of animals, cities, landmarks from the surrounding galaxy. Some of the designs in his garden are of things that are now destroyed or extinct.
I mentioned the landscape is a wasteland. Think of all those billions of parsnipheads desperate for a snack. And some idiot keeps a stocked dinner table at all times.
He hasn’t had a tourist for years. And he can leave whenever he wants. Getting crushed by the dead is his only real safety risk. We’ve argued about it a hundred times over, but he will not give up on his creations. It was his business, his whole life. He must have a thousand hit him every twenty-four hours. He spends his time fixing fences, chopping off heads, and getting by on home grown vegetables and river water. All alongside keeping his hedges in shape.
What gets me down is that he will fail one day. A swarm will hit his land,, and he won’t stand a chance. I always know next time could be the last trip.’
Well, I cannot deny his entrepreneurial spirit. But I’m glad I’m not alone on a planet of the dead, cutting plants all day.
