Lower CoSMOS-Milmurt’s Visit

“It smells of Mon in here. Is that how you arrived?”

Credit: Kai Stachowiak


            Milmurt said outside of the large round spiral vessel, nestled into the white and gray ground. Yellow perch trees with their jagged leaves waved in a calming wind. The stranger of strangers, Milmurt, an accepted Uru from Ranok, a Ranokian, waited for an answer. He scratched his ridged brown head and turned it all the way behind him. The Uru city spread out in the distance and a solemn great plateau was to the City’s north. Creatures came and went into the night, communicating, foraging, plotting; it made for some company in the back times when the Uru examined him for credibility. Now, they were the familiar sounds of a home distant from his own. He remembered the discomfort and the waiting period he endured to be accepted by the Uru. They had a history with his people and Milmurt was as non-descript as anyone there beside his distinct nonchalant voice. His patience ended with another call at the door.

            “You were near the sebewenga. Why? It’s time we met. That wasn’t a good time and now is,” he said.

            The vessel’s lavender door remained closed with no viewing ports, but a voice said, “Never you mind. Goodnight, Sir. Pleasants.”

            Every word the voice spoke was in the Uru language.

            “If it is the case then, do not come to the sebewenga again,” Milmurt said.

            The door opened.

            “That is not yours!” a young human said, his glasses thick, his hair trimmed neat and his clothes, fastened with plastic pieces made to fit him specifically. A shine radiated off his body. Milmurt found the young man’s bodywear claustrophobic but admired how secure the human appeared. The thick collar on his suit gave a locked-in presence, almost a home of its own.

            Milmurt moved past the young man and into his chambers.

            “Oh, no no,” the young man said, but Milmurt was already in. He grinned.

            “I’ve spent a better part of my life building this and I never had a roommate so don’t think about it.”

            “You’re from earth. I can speak that or Uru. Which one do you prefer,” Milmurt said.

            “The language of peace, as in leaving me alone, Milmurt Ranok,” the human said in Uru.

            Milmurt took his eyes away from the comfortable confines of the man’s spacecraft to stare at the human. His black pupils stayed on the apprehensive man.

            “The Uru will know you invaded my space. I have their permission to be here.”

            “So do I,” Milmurt answered.

            “Then peace is how we should keep this, Milmurt Ranok.”

            Milmurt peered around the vessel again, a home and a spacecraft in one. Its creator was left with no choice. It had to do with this circumstance.

            On one of the rounded parts of the ship, the man made a bed for himself that doubled as a place to sit. Milmurt’s bone structure matched humans at a variation, so the bench was inviting. The man reminded himself to be mindful of observing Milmurt’s mannerisms, citing him as an early human ancestor.

            “What did you want out on sebewenga?”

            The man said nothing.

            Milmurt continued his scrutinization of the home.

            “Now, Ronnie. You can tell me,” Milmurt said.

            “Great!” Ronnie chuckled and repeated his name under his breath. Those Uru cannot keep anything to themselves. I only want my home back,” Ronnie said.

            “Your home? Last I heard young man it is still there.”

            “No. This one,” Ronnie pointed at the floor. Milmurt sniffed in silence.

            “It smells of Mon in here. Is that how you arrived?” Milmurt said. Ronnie lowered his head refusing to answer.

            “Do you want to know something?” Milmurt said, pulling at his melevo skinned jacket with Oxo hair hood.

            “I did. When you weren’t in my home,” Ronnie said.

            “Alright. Ok,” Milmurt nodded and curled his chipped brown lips, “Good enough.”

            He raised his brown fingers, small flakes of his outer skin layer fell off with movement. Milmurt scanned the vessel again and then turned to the shorter Ronnie. His astute, clean, and naive face convinced Milmurt he may control the young earth-man one day.

            “It’s a neighborly thing to do if someone is stranded on this planet to tell another how to get home, but you don’t want to know,” Milmurt said.

            Ronnie pivoted away from Milmurt pretending to attend to a collection of artifacts he sealed in a bag a decade or more ago. Milmurt stood. He began toward the entrance and left. Ronnie closed his eyes to sigh.

            “AAAANNNN MACA,” a booming voice came, Ronnie spun around toward the door again.

            Outside, three immense beings hung above the ship. Milmurt pulled his head up to what he believed were feet, but it was their base.

            “Ban Ranaom, Milmurt Ranok!” the voices said. Milmurt grasped the idea of his body shuddering at the words. He held himself from showing fear but took his time answering.

            “I like it here and I am fine with that,” Milmurt said. He started his walk back to the plateau called the ‘place of thought’ in Uru language, ‘sebewenga.’

            The creatures, who some believe are only their faces, remained close to one another above Milmurt, conversing. Ronnie opened the entrance to his home while putting his Uru-secured footwear on to protect his fragile skin and began a hop outside until he gained his balance. One of the Mon rotated to Ronnie. The young man raised his arms over his head as if waiting to be crushed.

            “Ke kit corasono don doran,” one said in a complimentary tone to Ronnie.

            “With much respect, my friends,” Ronnie said.

            A loud sigh came from the Mon as one started a descend to Milmurt while speaking.

            Milmurt stopped, put his palms out to it, and the Mon ceased downward to obey Milmurt’s space. Ronnie stayed back attempting to gain anything from the conversation. The Mon continued to question Milmurt.

            “That is not necessary,” Milmurt said.

            “Bogan?” the Mon said, with the voice booming and trailing off around them.

            “Maybe. Right now, things are well,” Milmurt said. The Mon started to distance themselves from the surface of the planet. Milmurt eyed their exit and turned his head to Ronnie who stood as the Mon gave him space on their exit. Ronnie walked to Milmurt as he stood.

            “So now you know,” Ronnie said.

            “We will get along fine. It was my mistake for attempting some community, young man. A mistake. You can go back to your ship. I have no intention of speaking with you again,” Milmurt said.

            “Is that all it took, Milmurt?” said Ronnie.

            “You know.”

            “I have always known. I didn’t think you to want to come near me. But I have to ask, now that they were here. Why, Milmurt? Why are you here?” Milmurt continued his walk to the plateau.

“Did you not hear all of it?” Milmurt said in the distance, “What more is there?”

“No, not all of it,” Ronnie said in a low tone as Milmurt was too far away now to hear.

            At the edge of the flat terrain, at its base, Milmurt cut out a stairway leading to the top. He had no home or shelter apart from the small entry dug out of the side. He stayed on the plateau through the night until he grew weary of gazing into space and his memory of a life he lived with his people.

            Laying down and coming close to sleep, his eyes opened; Ronnie stood over him. Milmurt sat up and pushed himself away from Ronnie to save himself.

            “You aren’t the kind of human,” Milmurt said, gulping, although not afraid of Ronnie but only the momentary vulnerable position he was in. He stood to take up a better defensive posture in case he was wrong.

            “Milmurt Ranok? The unrestrained one? You are Milmurt, the outcast?” Ronnie said.

            Milmurt nodded, not proud of the names.

            “Milmurt the condemned?” Milmurt said, “Did you hear that one?”

            “I came from one place to avoid people like you, Milmurt,” Ronnie said.

            “Oh? You wouldn’t guess that from the way humans treat each other,” said Milmurt, hoping that Ronnie found some humor behind it. Milmurt clasped his hands. When moving his body, parts of his brittle skin fell from his body but grew back again in a short time.

“Then, goodnight as they say in your reality.” Milmurt walked to the steps where Ronnie came up.

            “Why the Mon, Milmurt?”

            Milmurt turned to Ronnie, “I heard the Mon call you Mon-Cavorin. A genius and yet you do not know. Your friends are the most valuable creatures from here to Liatori. One Mon brings in the wealth of Microsis.”

            Ronnie shook his head and batted his eyes from his ignorance of the locations.

            “I don’t know those places.”

            “That is why they are so valuable, Ronnie. Isn’t that how you got here?” Milmurt said.

            “By accident,” Ronnie said.

            “And you do not want to return? But if you wanted to, they would take you there. Isn’t that what they said to you?”

            “I know,” said Ronnie, “If you keep away from me. There is no reason for me to go because I do not want to…” Ronnie paused, “However, enchiladas and french fries sound good.”

            Milmurt smirked and continued down the steps.

            “Anything else on earth, I do not miss,” Ronnie said.

            Milmurt paused and turned back to Ronnie almost one quarter of the way down, “Ah, but family?”

            Ronnie said nothing and trailed behind Milmurt, scampering to catch up.

            He followed behind, spying on each step to remember where he was and how far he was from Milmurt each night. Down the steps, Ronnie was sure to find Milmurt waiting but no one was there, not knowing Milmurt stood behind him. Milmurt grabbed Ronnie from behind and wrapped his arm around his neck.

            “Not a word to anyone you meet, Ronnie. Not at a word about me. I warned the Urus and you now. My friendly visit was a friendly visit.”

Milmurt released Ronnie with a push and the young man ran to his vessel. He stumbled through the dust and rough terrain of Usk, tripping over his feet and fighting tears. Never was he hated for a secret or knowledge he kept. Hatred came from Milmurt’s tongue. A hatred Ronnie recalls from his days on earth and the anger people had with his dark skin. The constant reminder of ridicule of it made Usk an acceptable home for him. He didn’t want it ruined by dealing with Milmurt’s animus toward him. Milmurt’s former life was an enemy of life’s greatest gift to space exploration, the fantastic Mon. Coming to the spacecraft he named Siouxsie, Ronnie fled inside, sealing the door behind him.