It wasn’t Risa. Not even close. Which explained how they’d gotten accommodations on such short notice – even with the whole fleet on shore leave, and them being late to the party.
Liraxa IV was neither particularly crowded, nor particularly appealing. Its main attraction was a sprawling forest – and if one believed local legends, it contained spirits.

Quence, of course, didn’t buy that nonsense. Not any more, anyway.

Back in his youth, the varying iterations of folklore had him seal his windows shut at night, and watch out for suspicious shadows over day.

But now, he was a man of science. And men of science weren’t scared of fairy tales.

He’d still happily avoid the woods.

But he couldn’t.

Because someone – probably Nassar – had decided to torture him – planed a hike for the team.

So, here he was. Running on academic time – fifteen minutes late, and precisely on schedule. He’d made a point of arriving impeccably dressed, sporting a perfectly calibrated tricorder and a well-equipped rucksack, and humming a jaunty tune as he approached their designated meetup area.

From the distance, he could make out Thompson towered next to Zantett, and Jalloh’s baritone laughter carried over while he was talking to an individual Quence assumed to be their guide.

His expression soured. So much for hoping they’d get tired of waiting and leave without him.  Well, nothing to do about it now.

“Good of you to wait for me.” he waved, interrupting whatever conversations they were having.

“Oh, you’re right on time.” replied Thompson with a smile that was a little too archly for comfort. As was their insinuation that he’d failed time to his accidental delay.

“Well then!” Quence clapped his hands. “Liraxa IV’s forest remains largely untouched by the local population due to their belief in a spiritual connection between the land and its people. As such, it is crucial that we do not disturb it. I recommend adjusting your tricorders to the settings I’ve provided in the briefing I’ve sent to your PADDs, and if you have any questions at all, please do ask – I am happy to share my notes!”

He flashed a confident smile, disregarding the glances that were exchanged. Instead, he took a closer look at their attire and equipment.

Thompson was carrying their tent. Jalloh was holding a large sheet of paper that looked like it was stolen from a museum, and Zantett was busy adjusting the settings of her holo recorder.

Neither of them looked even remotely prepared, and Quence realised that it would once more fall to him to make their endeavour worthwhile. Typical!

“Let us proceed with caution” he continued “Yesterday’s precipitation may have compromised the stability of the terrain’s substrate.”

“He means ‘it rained and might be slippery.’” Zantett translated for the guide.

Quence blinked. “Why, yes. That’s what I said.”

“Yeah, maybe talk in a way everyone can understand you. I’m pretty sure that’s what language is meant to do.” the guide offered with a wink.

Jalloh snorted.

Zantett grinned.

Thompson bit their lip.

And Quence? He tried his very best to pretend he didn’t hear it.

“Be careful here!” the guide – who hadn’t introduced himself to Quence. Rude! – called out.

Quence looked up from his tricorder and,  to his dismay, noted that they had left the beaten path. They were now facing a slippery slope through gradually thickening foliage. Up, not down.

“Is this truly necessary?” he asked. Quence could vividly imagine how little regard the branches and vines would have for his attire. And he’d get his shoes muddy.

“Kind of is.” said Mister Guide. “If we wanna to make it to the campsite before night hits, I say we don’t take unnecessary detours.”

Quence huffed his disapproval. “Very well. If that is your expert opinion.”

“Yeah.” the guide shrugged. “It is.”

No one else commented. Which was odd, since they must see the validity of Quence’s concern.

Instead, Jalloh clambered after the guide, clearly finding his purpose in matching every single step until he had reached the top of the slope, and gave the rest of the group a small wave. His hands were dirty. And he didn’t seem to care in the slightest.

It reminded Quence of his youth. When he was carelessly exploring the forest of his childhood home, knowing that his mother would complain about ruined clothes and fresh scratches – and him setting off for adventure anyway.
He shooed the thought away.

Zantett and Thompson were looking at him. “Ladies first.” he said absentmindedly, and didn’t get why Thompson was making a face again.
He was too busy trying to memorize the path they took. The last thing he wanted was to embarrass himself by taking longer than they did.

It didn’t take long until they were all up there. Waving at him. Calling out.

Quence made himself ready to ascent the slope when…

“Come on Aves!”

He froze.

His eyes met the group. Neither of their faces indicated that they acknowledged their transgression.

“Doctor Quence.” Thompson said lightheartedly. “Would you please join us?”

Quence swallowed hard. He must have imagined it.
Surely none of his colleagues would be so disrespectful as to call him by his first name, and then not even the actual name, but the cursed pet-name his brother had used to undermine his achievements.

“Coming!” he pressed out, and winced at how meekly his words emerged.

Carefully, he picked his way. Slow, deliberate steps over loose stones that were textbook safety hazard. Soon, every step became a negotiation, and just when he thought he’d reached the apogee of his climb, he lost his footing.

The tumble knocked the air from his lungs, and ended with him in the soft mud. Face first.

“Quence!”

At warp-speed, the group had rejoined him at the foot of the slope, watching with concern as the guide helped him up to his feet. “Everything okay?”

Quence’s thoughts were as muddy as his suit, boots… and the rest of him.
Still, he forced eloquence to his lips, and the dirt from his flushed face.

“Oh my! What a treacherous path you’ve led us on.” he exclaimed as Jalloh helped him to his feet while he willed fortitude into his legs.

Zantett, who had snatched his tricorder, sighed in relief. “Good thing the mud is soft.”

“Yes, indeed.” Quence agreed. “Let us attempt the climb again”

The faster they got this over with, the better. Sticks and stones wouldn’t break his bones, but certainly bruise his ego.

“Can’t.” the guide said. “Too much movement on the slope, no longer safe to climb. The long way round it is.”

For a split second, Quence was almost disappointed. He wasn’t sure at what exactly. Then, he recognized the chance that had just revealed itself “But perhaps we should turn back?”

“Too late for that.” The guide shook his head. “Won’t make it back to the resort. Doubt we’ll even make it to the camping area I had in mind.” He paused for a moment. “But I know an alternative not too far from here.”

Quence sighed internally, but nodded enthusiastically. “Yes. Please. Lead the way, good man.”

Did Thompson just roll their eyes? Quence was almost sure he had seen it from the corner of his vision as he retrieved the tricorder from Zantett.

The sudden pang of self-doubt digging into his thoughts was new to him. And at the same time, very familiar.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts, and lengthened his stride to catch up with the guide, and to bring some distance between himself and his colleagues.

Popularity, he had realized, was a highly bankable commodity – and one he never quite seemed to be able to attain. Despite trying.

Quence’s heart seemed to be pressing against his ribs. It seemed to him they had been hiking for hours without taking a single break.

Whoever had advertised this endeavour as ‘relaxing’ should be made aware of their fallacy, and Quence would take it upon himself to do just that.

The worst of all – his tricorder must have been compromised during his tumble. The usually reliable piece of technology kept reading strange energy signatures where the eye only spied only trees and the occasional denizen of the forest.

Still, as the early gloaming turned shades into shadow, Quence found that he was as cautious as he was wary. And tired. And covered in crusted mud.

He barely noticed the group halting.

“Quiet.” the guide whispered, and pointed ahead. “Do you see that?”

Quence squinted his eyes. Up ahead was a clearing, and on it a group of animals that could best be described as deer, but in green, and with feelers.
He had read about them, but the name eluded him…

“They’re Kirtav.” the guide said. “Usually move north at this time of the year, looks like we’re in luck.”

“Can we go closer?” Zantett asked, and the rest of the group nodded eagerly. Aside Quence. He didn’t share the penchant for animals, mostly because they didn’t seem to like him either.

“Yes, but be as quiet as you possibly can.”

As the rest of the group moved, Quence stayed behind. He told himself that he didn’t even want to look at the Kirtav, and instead savoured a moment of solitude – and a sip from the thermo mug of coffee he had brought all the way from the Olympic.

Perhaps the sophisticated aroma would wash away the bitterness that kept creeping into his thoughts.

He inhaled, took a sip, and-…

“What the-…!”

He inadvertently sent the cup on a shattering journey to the floor, destroying the calm of the bucolic day in the process.

Something… something! … was wrong with his coffee. Aside from the fact that it was now caffeinating the forest floor.

Up ahead, the group of Kirtav scattered just when the others had snuck close enough to take a holo photo of them. Thompson sighed loudly in disappointment, and Jalloh shook his head.

“You must have been too noisy.” Quence said quickly, but the glare Zantett gave him had so much raw reproach in it, that it froze him in place.

“Maybe you can stop ruining the trip for the rest of us.” she hissed, not even allowing him to reply before she turned her back to him.

He still tried. Once he had regained control over his body, that was.

“My dear, I have no such intention. I highly doubt it was the gentle clinking of my mishap that startled them.” He had meant for his denial to peal forth with the authority he was so used to holding. But to his utter dismay, it sounded more like the excuse of a child caught redhanded in the cookie jar.

He slowly picked up the discarded cup, and stowed it into his rucksack.

“I think we all need a break.” Jalloh said amiably.

Quence gave a somewhat defeated nod. “Used to be I love hiking..” he muttered – and then covered his mouth with his hand. He looked at Jalloh, hoping he hadn’t heard…

But Jalloh laughed.

Then, he gave him a pat on the back. “Let’s go, Aves.”

Quence’s eyes widened. So he hadn’t imagined it!

The unsolicited use of his first name as audacious, unprofessional and unconscionable.

He planned to tell Jalloh exactly that. He had worked long and hard to subsume Aves in eloquence, and he wouldn’t let some… some… person destroy it!

Unfortunately, his mouth was uninterested in obeying him, and remained closed. His whole body, it seemed, was staging a mutiny – feet following Jalloh rather than allowing him to metaphorically and physically stand his ground.

Perhaps, this wasn’t a coincidence. Perhaps this was the crux of their fiendish plan – to destroy the suave persona he’d so carefully cultivated over the years.

He couldn’t – he wouldn’t! – let them win.