Summerhill (2 page)

When the bartender spoke, it did so by clacking its mandibles together, the hollow clunking sounds suggesting that the creature was made of wood after all. The noises it made formed some kind of speech, and while the cacophony didn’t equate to any form of communication Summerhill was familiar with, the dog understood it anyway.

“Yes, something fizzy,” he told the bartender in reply. “I’m open to suggestions.”

The bartender clacked away again, and nodded with some enthusiasm.

“I’ve never had that before, but it sounds lovely,” Summerhill said. This was all new to him; even if he ended up with a drink he didn’t like, he’d be richer for the experience. He watched as the gangly wooden insect fetched a bottle from a high shelf, undoing the cork with a satisfying pop before pouring a golden, bubbly liquid into a tall flute. It smelled like flowers and honey, the aroma striking Summerhill’s nostrils with an effervescent flourish.

The bartender held it out for Summerhill to take, grasping the delicate glass with remarkable care and balance. With a polite bow, the dog took it, and sampled a quick sip before smiling his approval.

Summerhill wondered how he’d gotten on for so long without beverages, especially those with bubbles and alcohol in them. He took another, longer sip as he waded through the crowd, and soon found himself torn between wanting to savor his drink and wanting to just guzzle it all right then and there. From the look of it, the party wasn’t ending anytime soon, and so he decided he could afford to take his time.

The glowing gas-creature from before floated by, electric pulses crackling in the air around its form, but if it took note of Summerhill, it showed no indication. The dog did a quick check to make sure that he had, in fact, evaded his former conversation partners, and was satisfied when he saw no sign of them waiting around.

The conversations this close to the bar were rowdier than the others, with beings needing to speak louder and louder to talk over one another. Most of the guests, Summerhill had noticed, had been outfitted with a small device tucked just inside their ear (or equivalent, depending on varying anatomy); presumably, this was what allowed them to all converse with one another despite not sharing a common language. Since he’d snuck on board, Summerhill didn’t have one of his own, and so he didn’t know for sure what the devices did, but that was his best guess.

Distancing himself from the throng, the excited canine tried to find a more laid back group to involve himself with. He tried to let his nose and ears be his guides, but there was so much going on in the huge ballroom that he felt himself pulled in too many different directions at once. Instead, he just wandered, and waited to see what he’d find. Anything he encountered would be new to him, after all.

What he found, with his senses overstimulated and his attention unfocused, was that walking aimlessly through a busy crowd was a bad idea. Before he’d made it even ten paces from the bar, he stumbled right into one of the other guests. He murmured an absentminded apology, quickly taking stock of the situation to make sure he hadn’t spilled his fun new drink all over someone, and was relieved to see that he hadn’t.

The other guest did much the same, patting himself down with one free hand while holding a glass off to the side with the other. The flustered fellow looked for all the world like a river otter in a tuxedo. He was fully bipedal, much the way Summerhill was, if shorter and with more slender proportions.

“Oh, wow, I’m so sorry,” they both said at the same time.

The two of them stared back into each other’s eyes. There was a moment where Summerhill could tell that they were sizing each other up for their strange similarities, and then they both laughed at the ridiculous coincidence. The otter-fellow’s grin was goofy if still kind of charming.

“You all right?” Summerhill asked.

The otter nodded. “Yeah,” he said, taking a quick, deep sip from his glass as if to preemptively prevent future spillage. “Just wasn’t paying attention.” He looked at his glass as he pulled it away from his lips, then tilted his ears back. “Maybe I’ve had too much to drink.”

“Oh, it was probably my fault, actually,” Summerhill said with a dismissive wave. “Either way, don’t worry about it.”

It didn’t look as though the otter had heard him. “I don’t suppose you’ve got the time, do you?” he asked instead.

Summerhill’s ears shot up, and his mind raced with a sudden sense of urgency. He patted at his shirt and shorts. “I—No, I don’t think so,” he said, checking his pockets twice to make sure. “Seems I forgot to bring a watch.”

But the otter was already slipping away, his thick tail disappearing from view as it brushed past the legs of a robotic spider. His scent lingered in the air for a moment, sharper than all the others, holding Summerhill’s attention for several seconds. It made him stare dumbly into the distance before he shook it off and went back to his meandering.

He scanned the crowd while taking some more sips of his golden, fizzy drink. If he had some clearer idea of where he wanted to go, he could better avoid bumping into any more guests.

Not far from where he stood was a tall lizard-creature, talking animatedly about his planet’s sun. The specifics of what he was saying were lost as Summerhill let his mind get carried away by one of his more recent memories—the moment when he realized that, despite his own world not having a sun, he still somehow carried in his mind a clear notion of what a sun
was
.

The shadows of the titanic skyscrapers of home began to loom over Summerhill’s mind, and to banish them, the dog swallowed back the second half of his drink in one gulp. Dwelling on the past, on home, was the last thing he wanted
to do here. Heck, by rights, the
S.S. Nusquam
was the perfect place to escape all that. He wasn’t even sure where the ship was headed, but if the cruise really was the eternal party it seemed to be, he was content to stay aboard for as long as he possibly could.

That thought, too, came to a screeching halt with a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to see a young woman. She was about as tall as Summerhill, but had pale, furless skin and curly, shoulder-length blonde hair. The word
‘human’
went through Summerhill’s head, and though the term was unfamiliar to him, he understood its meaning all the same.
She wore the formal, black-and-white garb of the hostesses Summerhill had seen around the ship, along with small crystalline earrings that glittered with the same prismatic effect as the ballroom chandeliers. In her hands she carried a device that looked like an electronic clipboard. “Might I have a brief word over here, sir?” she asked.

Summerhill followed the hostess, who led him off of the main floor and into a corridor that was empty of other guests. Her eyes reflected a sternness that Summerhill hadn’t encountered since coming on board, but then, he also hadn’t gotten in trouble with any of the staff until now. At least, he assumed he was in trouble, since it was unlikely that the hostess had dragged him away from the crowd in order to strike up a casual chat.

The hostess kept glancing up at Summerhill as she manipulated her clipboard-device with her fingers. “Don’t worry, sir,” she murmured. “This should only take a second. I just need to confirm your identity.” She then tapped a fingertip against her temple, and a hitherto invisible monocle appeared over her right eye, the lines of an optical readout faintly visible on the reverse side.

If this hostess possessed the cruise’s guest list, she’d discover in no time that Summerhill wasn’t supposed to be aboard. Making a run for it seemed like a terrible idea, since given the
Nusquam
’s level of technology, it was doubtful he would be able to run very far. He didn’t know what punitive measures the crew might take with him, but trying to flee probably wouldn’t make them more lenient.

“The scanner isn’t picking up your identity, sir,” the hostess said. “If you’re a shapeshifter, I’ll have to ask you to revert to the form you had when you were first registered, sir.”

Summerhill shook his head. “Nope. I just look like this.”

The woman sighed. “Let me try again, then, sir,” she said, and once more she stared him down through the high-tech monocle. A moment later, she shook her head. “No, I’m sorry, but I don’t have you in my database.”

The dog leaned forward and pointed at the electronic clipboard. “My name ought to be on the guest list,” he said. “I’m Summerhill. Try looking under ‘S.’”

As if insulted that he was even trying this, the woman arched an eyebrow, then sighed again, louder. “Mr. Summerhill,” she murmured, flicking her finger across the flat screen as she scrolled through a list of names. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m still not finding you.”

“Well, that’s strange,” Summerhill said. “I mean, if I wasn’t invited, how else did I get here?”

A clever gleam appeared in the hostess’ eye as the monocle disappeared from view. “Excellent question, sir,” she said, her voice quieter, but also sharper. “Care to tell me?”

Telling her was absolutely out of the question. Not only would it be foolish to admit guilt, she probably wouldn’t believe that he’d simply walked into the distance until ending up in the middle of nowhere, even though it was true. “You’re not accusing me of being a stowaway, surely?” Maybe he could buy himself some time and some brilliant idea would come to him. Maybe.

The hostess tapped one of her earrings, and a small earpiece appeared, in the same manner that the monocle had. “Security,” she said. “This is Katherine. I’m in the ballroom, and I—”

Summerhill felt his heart skip a beat, his eyes going wide and his fur standing on end. The name shot to the front of his mind, spelling itself out in brilliant blue letters on the inside of his eyelids when he blinked. “Wait,” he blurted. “
You’re
Katherine?”

Katherine rolled her eyes. “Nice try,” she muttered to him before resuming her report to Security. “I’m in the ballroom,” she repeated, but before she could finish that statement, Summerhill reached out and grabbed her arm.

“Hold on,” he begged. “Please, I really do need to talk to you. I just need a minute to explain myself.” This was Katherine. She was real.

For several seconds, Katherine was quiet as she searched Summerhill’s eyes. Her businesslike demeanor and serious gaze didn’t falter at all, but when she spoke again, she said, “Security, belay that. Ident scan checks out; false alarm.” Her fingers brushed her earring again, and the communication device disappeared.

She set both hands on her hips. “Right, then,” she said. “You’ve got one minute before I get back on the line to Security, Mr. Summerhill. Make it good.”

Summerhill took a deep breath and paced back and forth, rubbing his hand-like paws together. “Okay. Now, fair warning, this is going to sound pretty strange.”

“I’m Chief Hostess of the
Nusquam
,” Katherine countered. “Try me.”

The dog chuckled. “Right,” he said. Oh, this was going to sound stupid. “So, the gist of it is that I was told that I needed to find you.”

Katherine raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What for?”

“That’s the thing,” Summerhill said. “It depends on whether or not you know the person who sent me.”

“Well, who sent you, then?”

Summerhill looked down at the floor. “It’s a long story,” he said. “Or, well, actually, I’m not sure if it’s a long story or not. I’m not sure how long of a story it is.”

“Mr. Summerhill,” Katherine said with an exasperated growl, “I really don’t have time for this. If there’s something you need to tell me, give me the short version so I can figure out what the hell to do with you.”

“I think
I
sent me.”

One

Oblivion

Summerhill lived in the World of the Pale Gray Sky.

The World of the Pale Gray Sky was a quiet place, mainly because Summerhill was the only person who lived there. This didn’t strike him as weird, though—not until he started coming up with questions. But the dog lived there for quite some time before he got around to that.

In the World of the Pale Gray Sky, there were no storms, and there was no rain; the sky was simply always gray, the same dull, uniform color in all directions. The gray did not come from clouds; the gray simply was. Sometimes there were clouds, or what looked like they might have been clouds, but Summerhill never paid those much heed.

There was no sun, either, and so there was no night and no day, no way to demarcate the passage of time, and so Summerhill never bothered to do so.

The backdrop of that sky was broken only by tall, angular buildings that stabbed upwards, spearing the faintly-swirled gray in all directions, as far as the eye could see. Many of the buildings were a drab green; others were steel blue or slate blue; more rarely were they hues of yellow or red. Some had windows; some did not.

Nobody lived in those innumerable buildings, though. Nobody ever went into them, and nobody ever came out. Nobody wandered the endless streets between them. Nobody except for a lone dog named Summerhill. The whole world was one unending city, all for him.

Summerhill himself was far more colorful than anything else in his world. The rich hues of his fur stood out against the backdrop wherever he went. Even the clothes he wore all had the same washed-out, drab look to them, as if the world itself refused to allow too much color into it, but try as it might, it couldn’t leach the color out of
him
.