Butterfly on a wall

A spectacular view unfolded before Trichork. From the viewscreen of his ship, he saw an impressive kaleidoscope of colors that danced and swirled around his vessel, creating a protective bubble. It wasn't his first encounter with those rather spectacular fireworks and certainly not the last; it happened every time his ship decelerated from hyperspace to outer space.

The showy display of lights was in itself a safeguard, for it indicated that the reintegration of atomic particles had succeeded. If it were not to appear, the ship would disintegrate into oblivion and the pilots with it.

The colorful bubble had no pre-set rules on its design; just like the sky of any planet, it continuously developed new patterns. The pilots witnessing the event were touched by its simple beauty whether they wanted to or not. Again and again, it stirred admiration and deeply moved Trichork, who couldn't help but shed a few tears.

It lasted no longer than ten seconds; nonetheless, it was a much-appreciated contrast from the usual black and white space itself offered or from the infrared light he basked in traveling in hyperspace. The crimson tint was unnecessary but served as a reminder of the relentless dangers of space travel.

It hadn't been easy to reach the stars, a Millenium earlier, and after many trials, the scientists had to admit a small portion of the population could bear through.

Hyperspace tested a pilot's senses, attention and focus, wits, and knowledge to their extreme limits. Flying a ship demanded solid nerves, and many couldn't deliver, often realizing it when it was too late. It was why the training was harsh, the rules strict for becoming a pilot, and the Hyerkans didn't encourage civils to undertake space travel. Even less, individuals on a solo trip. Trichork had to show fierce determination (a trait Hyerkans responded to) to be allowed on this trip. He had won that battle and would win this one too.

Trichork had boldly embarked on a solitary quest. The long hours of loneliness and the exhausting work he subjected himself to often weighed on him, yet now that his goal was almost in his grasp, he deemed the sacrifice reasonable.

Completely drained after twelve hours at the command of his ship, he was glad to have made it to his final destination. After it would be Hyerk, his home planet, yahoo! he thought sarcastically. There he knew what awaited him and bitterness rose in him.

He enjoyed the ten seconds of relaxation he gave himself to the fullest before implementing his mission. A whole new game was starting, and depending on the planet, the work could be as demanding as steering through the stars. He had one retrieval left before reaching the end of his trials; since everything he attempted always resulted in a triumphant success, this would not be the exception.

The ship came to a halt as he entered the outermost atmosphere. The engines gave a last thrust of energy to achieve a perfect orbit. While the sensors mapped this backwater civilization, he took the opportunity to admire the new panorama that stretched before him.

He had visited many worlds, but none genuinely compared in splendor to this one. It was magnificent and in many ways similar to his world that he had departed from a decade earlier.

Earthl, as its inhabitants called it, possessed one satellite; only part of it was visible. Still, without even trying, he could find similarities with Lunatica and Caltom, the two moons that orbited Hyerk.

This observation affected him more than he thought possible. Something was not right with that picture. He couldn't pinpoint where the problem was, except that they couldn't be so identical, or could they?

It was evident that Hyerk and Earthl shared a particular connection. They must have had evolved under the same condition and about the same way. But he wasn't a geologist or a planetologist, and these questions didn't concern him. He was a rich man searching for something in particular, and he didn't have any time to lose on such trivialities. He had work to do, and the clock was ticking; he didn't have much time left.

Painful images flashed inside his mind, bringing emotional turmoil and confusion. He was the spectator to someone's life, his or a backlash from the telepathic battle he had raged against his prize retrieval of the planet Fin Danom? How easy was it to blame someone else for his demise? The fleeting images were his own.

Automatically, he blocked off the agonizing memories. It wasn't his first playback on his life; he had had the first seat with his dreadful encounter with the grim reaper. He had died. All his life had unfurled before him, not a pretty sight; his childhood wasn't something he enjoyed remembering.

He had gone over to the other world and had miraculously managed to come back. He swore he would finish his artistic tableau before giving in to death again. He intended to be remembered for it for eons to come.

Without warning, still, amid the miserable flashbacks of his childhood, dizziness struck. He feared he might blackout. He identified the fatigue as another trick from his ever-pursuing foe, the inevitable clock of the fates. He clung to consciousness with the desperation only a dying man could arouse. His head swirling, he stared back at Earthl, the catalyst of his affliction, and then, it all became clear. He understood where his symptoms came from; it had nothing to do with death.

Ten years spent alone in space. Obsessed as Trichork was, he hadn't realized how he missed Hyerk, how he yearned for Hyerkan contact. He had trouble maintaining healthy relationships with his people. His constant solitude had convinced him that a journey to the stars alone would be a lot more pleasurable than to spend his last days on Hyerk. Reaching the end of his crusade, he'd become aware of his limits and felt crushed by the truth of his needs.

Neither his planet nor Hyerkans was available, so he had to contend with what was just under his nose. He needed a distraction from the pang he was a victim of, and the majestic planet provided just that. It wasn't that bad; the view was splendid, so incredibly close to his Hyerk. Besides Earthl gravitational forces were too strong to resist, he was captivated by the orb.

By studying it, he noticed even more common points. Water covered 70% of its surface; for Hyerk, it was 65%. For the 13 other inhabited planets he had set foot upon, the ratio was the other way around, making this exceptional and rare, beaten only by Aquatica, which was 90% covered with the transparent dominating liquid.

All that water was one reason he felt mesmerized by the blue planet, the other being the continent's position. Earthl was practically a replica of Hyerk; why it hadn't struck him sooner, he didn't know; fatigue probably, but he felt soothed by that familiarity. He was amazed at the calm and serenity he experienced observing the gigantic sphere perform its unending rotations, yet his giddiness wouldn't fade away.

He thought of the crathom, a big fish that would swim miles and miles through the ocean to return to the river it had spawned on a ten-year cycle. Fiercely determined, it would make the perilous journey or die trying.

The resemblance was undeniable, and Trichork was proud to say he had survived and even reached an uncanny copy of his original breeding ground. It increased his longing for his proper resting place. Hyerk would hold his ashes. As this realization sank deep within him, his malaise subsided, and at last, he could concentrate on the task ahead of him.

He threw a glance at his masterpiece: a wall 20 feet wide, ten feet high, which adorned the next room. Nailed to the structure in an orderly pattern (seven to the right, seven to the left) were fourteen beings of all shapes, sizes, and appearances. According to Trichork and his array of instruments, they were all outstanding representations of their races. In other words: a perfect specimen.

Polished and clean, dressed in their best attire, make-up adequately enhancing their features, they were the perfect reflections of godlings. Trichork was proud of his collection. They might have looked like deities; he still stood higher than them: he owned them; they were his property. His imagination ran wild on what that made him.

In the center of the wall, a space broke the aura. And soon, a lucky sentient being who would've won the contest would fill that void, admirably completing the sequence. Pinned on the wall, exhibited behind a transparent window, everyone could admire the winner for all eternity. Frozen in time, he would outlive all creatures inhabiting the universe, even the most resilient ones.