RinthCon Day 1 - Gareth's Human Costume

01 – 2324 Gareth’s Human Costume (Day 1 flash fiction for RinthCon)

Gareth, the character described in this story is an uncredited side-character from the apocalyptic sci-fi / fantasy novel, The Last Days of Earth, book three of the trilogy Oræl Rides to War, by Andrew Hindle, aka. Edpool, aka. Hatboy.

Get Oræl Rides to War here:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07P7Y55MB

Andrew Hindle’s (aka. Edpool’s) website, for fiction and reviews and assorted social commentary:

www.hatboy.blog

The strange library in which Gareth had appeared had clearly been the site of some kind of disaster. Whether the disarray was a planned result of the space-time distortion that had brought him here, or the whole thing was unintended and the mess was a symptom, Gareth didn’t linger. He was no stranger to mishaps in research – even mishaps in research that resulted in his unwelcome presence – and he’d learned that the best approach was often … well, to leave. At least until he knew nobody in a white coat or a silly spooky robe was about to come looking for him.

From what little he saw of the demolished storeroom and the assorted shapes and drag-marks in the dust, it didn’t seem like the sort of place he wanted to hang around in regardless of the wardrobe choices of the personnel. And so he turned smartly, straightened his jacket, ignored the unsettling noises from the shadowy far side of the space, and headed in the opposite direction to said noises. Walking briskly, but not running.

A few sets of stairs and jumbled corridors later, he emerged into what he deduced must be the ground floor of the place in which he’d arrived.

Gareth wandered into the crowded hall, looking around in surprise and great interest. This was not what he had been expecting. He hadn’t been sure what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t this.

He was on an asteroid. He’d figured this out even before reaching the surface, mainly from the feel of the rock into which the structure had been built, and partly because he’d started out on an asteroid and this was the simplest in a long list of very complicated explanations. Indeed, he was in a hotel or convention centre built into an asteroid – the same asteroid, in fact, as the one he’d crash-landed on, but a copy of it somehow. An alternate version of it, that he’d jumped to because of that crystal.

Weird, but he could work with it.

The first thing he needed to do was learn some of the local languages. The denizens of the asteroid hotel seemed to speak a variety of subtly different kinds of gibberish, but since it was all gibberish it was hard to say exactly how many different kinds there were. They also didn’t seem to be too worried, or even aware, of the strange mess down in the storerooms. Maybe this sort of thing was normal to them.

After a short but frustrating time spent frowning, smiling, nodding and pantomiming to various people, he finally pantomimed to a person wearing the right sort of lanyard and was led to a merchant’s table where an assortment of objects were laid out. Some were impressively high-tech, little badges one could connect to one’s chest or visors one could place over one’s eyes. Others were simply outlandish. He couldn’t be certain, but he suspected the vendor wanted him to buy a tiny fish and put it in his ear. Shaking his head, he settled on a sleek black pad that matched his suit, and detached a small earpiece from it to stick in his ear instead.

Translation was smooth and instantaneous, and if it was also a little difficult to trust – he really only had the machine’s word on what was actually being said, and machines were tricksome – there was little recourse in the short term. He’d learn the local languages and dialects, but it would take a while.

He became aware that the fellow with the lanyard had said something to him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and smiled.

“Do you have a [ticket / membership / pass]?” the fellow said. The translator was not entirely clear on the specifics but Gareth got the idea.

“Ah,” he looked apologetic. “I do, but I left it in my room. I did not realise I needed to have it with me at all times,” the fellow was looking dubious, and Gareth smiled again. “My name is Gareth. My friends call me Gary.”

This was probably true – just because Gareth didn’t have any friends, didn’t mean he hadn’t been called Gary a time or two by people with whom he was attempting to ingratiate himself. But the effect on the lanyarded man was unexpectedly dynamic.

“Oh! My name’s Ed – Edberg – Ed,” he said, and extended his hand. He faltered slightly when Gareth clasped his forearm, but immediately relaxed and copied the gesture. “Right on, right on, warrior handshake, I can dig it. You into [fourth symbol of local lexical alphabet, repeated]?”

“Very much,” Gareth took an earnest-faced gamble.

“And – may I ask – were you named for…?”

“The Gary,” Gareth took another gamble, “absolutely.”

A small green creature in a black full-body garment gave him a narrow look as it swept by them, but Edberg was beaming happily. “Well, I just so happen to be a direct descendant of Gary Gygax, and if [fourth symbol of local lexical alphabet, repeated] is your thing, then you need to come and join our game,” he said. “It’s going to be something special this year.”

“How exciting,” Gareth enthused. “I will certainly consider it. This translator works perfectly, by the way. What sort of currency or barter system do you use?”

“Oh, um, oh – you, uh, well, there’s a few different alternatives for – for money and…” Edberg struggled a little, then pointed to a small booth in one corner. A number of outlandishly-dressed figures were queuing patiently outside it. “You can get [tokens / cash / dēnāriī / coupons / goodwill markers / small bits of highly-polished seashell or lapis lazuli / tanned squirrel skins / crystal-sealed vials of the blood of elder-]-”

Gareth winced a little and removed the earpiece for a moment as the translator went into a minor but squealy terminology loop. He put it back in and smiled at Edberg. “A banking booth,” he concluded. “Very good. I will return momentarily – I hope the vendor will not mind…?”

“No, no, it’s fine, that’s fine, he’s fine, he can’t very well pay if he can’t understand the teller interface,” Edberg said, his voice growing steadily fiercer as the vendor began making noises to the effect that he did in fact mind, quite a lot actually, if a customer wandered off with one of his translators before paying. “Say,” Edberg went on. Gareth had already half-turned towards the booth, and he turned back with a polite expression. “Do you have a [cosplay / costume / fancy-dress]? Of your [fourth symbol of local lexical alphabet, repeated] character, I mean.”

“Oh – yes, in fact I am wearing it right now,” Gareth spread his arms.

Edberg looked doubtful. “It’s a bit … anachronistic,” he said. “What are you meant to be?”

“A human,” Gareth replied, and strolled away.

The people in line at the banking booth were friendly and informative, and helped to fill in a few more of the gaps he was experiencing regarding the asteroid hotel.

It was apparently the year “2324”. According to which method of counting, precisely, Gareth wasn’t sure, but he was reasonably confident that it was the deep past from his perspective, and referred to one of the forgotten old Gods of human mythology. Long before the Greater Fall, then, and even longer before Gareth’s time. A little random flashcard in Gareth’s brain informed him that the Green War had occurred in a year labelled as “2350” in old texts, so he may have arrived at a point some twenty-six years before that. A point at which, apparently, the Earth was part of a solar system of spherical planets, just like the long-gone Via Lactea cultists had claimed in their weird conspiracy theories. Which was fascinating.

Had humanity colonised this so-called solar system before the Green War, to the point of building mouldering old hotels on asteroids? Apparently so – in this iteration of history at least. Which was even more fascinating.

The asteroid was called LUE-42, or the Labyrinth, or just Rinth for short. The hotel was called the Saturn Hotel, named after the huge gaseous planet they were orbiting. There were no stars near enough to be a useful heat or power source. The whole place must be a nightmare to keep running. It was hardly any wonder the organisers of “RinthCon” had to turn to alternate universes to find attendees. Some of them were probably encouraged to pay in energy cells.

Nobody in the line seemed to be aware of the issues taking place downstairs, either.

Gareth stepped into the banking booth and looked at the interface. It seemed fairly straightforward. He placed his hand on the smooth glowing surface and closed his eyes.

“Osrai?” he murmured.

The Spirit of Earth was silent. It did not exist here. Nor, apparently, did there seem to be any corresponding ‘Spirit of Rinth’ present in the machine.

Excellent.

He stepped back out of the booth a couple of minutes later, pocketing several tokens that the interface assured him were commonly used on Rinth, and a scanner-card he could use to pay with more or less infinite credit.

This would help him to find his feet quite nicely.