Starved History

Long straights. Their perception of how close the Chronicle was had been a fallacy. What had appeared to be a relatively close building was, in actuality, miles away. The straight roads helped keep them on track but seemed to go on forever. Lore periodically checked their progress on their map. They were moving but barely getting closer. The further they travelled from the settlement, the worse the damage to the surroundings became. O’Raes was not as built up as other planets, with architecture similar to that seen on Earth in its early twentieth century, but still remained claustrophobic; the tall buildings shading them from the sun. Sitia indicated that they would have to leave the city to be able to loop around to the Chronicle’s tower. The reason why became clear. While the map displayed a clear and straight forward path to their destination, reality begged to differ. Blocking their path, a decapitated building’s head lay at its feet. The surrounding buildings were equally worse for wear, their skeletons gently swaying in the wind. Deciding not to risk a building landing on their heads, they continued along the recommended path. Leaving the main road, they hiked across an open field to reach their destination. Despite now walking on dirt instead of the road, their feet couldn’t tell the difference and their eyes weren’t much better. The soil crunched underfoot as it further compacted into itself. It had become so dry itself that it attracted the moisture from both Lore and Char as they continued. The air was dry and so were they. Frying in the air that surrounded them, they stopped for a moment.
“How are you holding up?” Char croaked to Lore before taking a swig from her bottle.
“Been better, been worse.” They joined her.
“I grew up in a desert and this is definitely the driest place I’ve been.” She chuckled.
“At least there isn’t any sand.” Lore nearly spat their last gulp out laughing at their own joke.
According to the map, it wasn’t much further but the map was once again deceiving. What looked like an hours trek became two, then two and a half before finally settling on three. The blockage that had caused their diversion had hidden further damage. Their first obstacle came in the form of a sinkhole that had engulfed the majority of the road meaning they had to navigate their way through the scarred buildings around the road’s wound before they could continue to the second and final obstacle. The Chronicle’s tower was for the most part intact from the exterior. However, as they entered they realised it was anything but. Without electricity, the lift wouldn’t be viable so stairs became their only option. Two thirds of the platforms were missing making the building perfect for those with specially adapted legs but borderline inaccessible for Lore and Char. It took them a moment to realise a possible solution but longer to rationalise using it. Their rings collided and suddenly the stairs were no longer an issue. Hovering along their original path, The Reaper planned to look two steps ahead but someone had beaten them to it.
“If you are here to remind me of my duties, consider your work done.” His voice was deep and dry.
“We came here to learn.” The Reaper replied, separating into its constituent people.
“That is something we can both say, but what knowledge do you seek?”
“We wish to know about your famine and when it began.” Lore asked politely
“The data you seek is held within. Come now please.” He bounded back up the missing stairs, forgetting his humanoid guests.
Reaper once more, they floated along the same path The Chronicle had taken and ensured that they reseparate before the top.
“We’re here. Now can you tell us about what happened here?” Lore tried to give a genuine smile.
“Long ago, we were many but now we are few. Famine’s hand crossed our lands and ruined our harvests. Ten years ago, was when it all began. One day, the crops just stopped growing and from then to now, nothing has grown on this planet… Not even children.”
“What about Sitia?” Char nodded.
“He may be old but he knows nothing about our history.”
“Five is old?”
“We age in different ways to you. Our average lifespan has been thirteen years since he was born. I am different however.” The Chronicle was right. He looked like a walking skin pile with wrinkled wrinkles. “I’m nearly twenty.” He stood as proud as he could without accidentally treating years of scoliosis in the most painful way imaginable. “My time is nearly nigh.”
“We want to help. We need the historical records from the time before the famine.”
“And what, human does your assistance cost?” He spread his thin bones across the four corners of the door in defence.
“Nothing. We just want to help.” The chronicle gave a breathy wheeze at the concept.
“Humans working for free?” He paused. “How did your kind get here? By our estimates, you’ve barely explored your own solar system.”
“Time travel.” Lore maintained their polite demeanour. The Chronicle’s face lit up.
“I will consider your request. Give me until the rise of the next moon to decide.” He rubbed his hands together. “You are welcome to remain here should you like.” He gestured to the remaining books in his library.
The Chronicle left towards another room. There was a horrendous grinding noise as rust spat from the doors lock. Lore twitched as they tried to cover their ears. The room was theirs for now. The library was careworn despite its war-torn exterior. It was as if a bomb had gone off yet everything had its place and was just so. They performed a delicate dance, using each other for balance, as they made their way through the piles of paper precariously balanced across the pathway towards the bookshelves. At the nest’s centre, Char and Lore began their investigation. Of the remaining texts, all but one related in some way to the O’Raes and their history.
“Nice of them to keep their texts in chronological order. Hello, what’s this?” Lore fingered through the identically bound brown texts reaching an ornate green book. “Hang on, why have these books got English labels but not this one?”
Char took a second glance at the book in her hand. “It’s in Quatarri not English.”
“You’re both right.” The Chronicle’s voice came from the other room. “The books have adaptive labels. If you can’t read it, put it down.”
“Nice.” Lore returned the text to its shelf and began reading through the journal in their other hand. Avid Readers.

“How are you holding up?” Char croaked to Lore before taking a swig from her bottle.
“Been better, been worse.” They joined her.
“I grew up in a desert and this is definitely the driest place I’ve been.” She chuckled.
“At least there isn’t any sand.” Lore nearly spat their last gulp out laughing at their own joke.
According to the map, it wasn’t much further but the map was once again deceiving. What looked like an hours trek became two, then two and a half before finally settling on three. The blockage that had caused their diversion had hidden further damage. Their first obstacle came in the form of a sinkhole that had engulfed the majority of the road meaning they had to navigate their way through the scarred buildings around the road’s wound before they could continue to the second and final obstacle. The Chronicle’s tower was for the most part intact from the exterior. However, as they entered they realised it was anything but. Without electricity, the lift wouldn’t be viable so stairs became their only option. Two thirds of the platforms were missing making the building perfect for those with specially adapted legs but borderline inaccessible for Lore and Char. It took them a moment to realise a possible solution but longer to rationalise using it. Their rings collided and suddenly the stairs were no longer an issue. Hovering along their original path, The Reaper planned to look two steps ahead but someone had beaten them to it.
“If you are here to remind me of my duties, consider your work done.” His voice was deep and dry.
“We came here to learn.” The Reaper replied, separating into its constituent people.
“That is something we can both say, but what knowledge do you seek?”
“We wish to know about your famine and when it began.” Lore asked politely
“The data you seek is held within. Come now please.” He bounded back up the missing stairs, forgetting his humanoid guests.
Reaper once more, they floated along the same path The Chronicle had taken and ensured that they reseparate before the top.
“We’re here. Now can you tell us about this plan?” Lore tried to give a genuine smile.
“Long ago, we were many but now we are few. Famine’s hand crossed our lands and ruined our harvests. Ten years ago, was when it all began. One day, the crops just stopped growing and from then to now, nothing has grown on this planet… Not even children.”
“What about Sitia?” Char nodded.
“He may be old but he knows nothing about our history.”
“Five is old?”
“We age in different ways to you. Our average lifespan has been thirteen years since he was born. I am different however.” The Chronicle was right. He looked like a walking skin pile with wrinkled wrinkles. “I’m nearly twenty.” He stood as proud as he could without accidentally treating years of scoliosis in the most painful way imaginable. “My time is nearly nigh.”
“We want to help. We need the historical records from the time before the famine.”
“And what, human does your assistance cost?” He spread his thin bones across the four corners of the door in defence.
“Nothing. We just want to help.” The chronicle gave a breathy wheeze at the concept.
“Humans working for free?” He paused. “How did your kind get here? By our estimates, you’ve barely explored your own solar system.”
“Time travel.” Lore maintained their polite demeanour. The Chronicle’s face lit up.
“I will consider your request. Give me until the rise of the next moon to decide.” He rubbed his hands together. “You are welcome to remain here should you like.” He gestured to the remaining books in his library.
The Chronicle left towards another room. There was a horrendous grinding noise as rust spat from the doors lock. Lore twitched as they tried to cover their ears. The room was theirs for now. The library was careworn despite its war-torn exterior. It was as if a bomb had gone off yet everything had its place and was just so. They performed a delicate dance, using each other for balance, as they made their way through the piles of paper precariously balanced across the pathway towards the bookshelves. At the nest’s centre, Char and Lore began their investigation. Of the remaining texts, all but one related in some way to the O’Raes and their history.
“Nice of them to keep their texts in chronological order. Hello, what’s this?” Lore fingered through the identically bound brown texts reaching an ornate green book. “Hang on, why have these books got English labels but not this one?”
Char took a second glance at the book in her hand. “It’s in Quatarri not English.”
“You’re both right.” The Chronicle’s voice came from the other room. “The books have adaptive labels. If you can’t read it, put it down.”
“Nice.” Lore returned the text to its shelf and began reading through the journal in their other hand. Avid Readers.