Aelonee

By Sean Monaghan

Planet Shepherdess.

Simple. Surprising. Deceptive. 

Cara Silmar's lifelong obsession researching the indigenous culture of Aelonee's people, the Saesse, leads her deeper and deeper into a world she still barely understands.

A new arrival and an old friend throw Cara's work into disarray, forcing her to consider everything.

Or toss it all away.

A deep space adventure story with a heart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Triple V Publishing
• Release date: May 19, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223296546

Sean Monaghan

Award-winning author, Sean Monaghan has published more than one hundred stories in the U.S., the U.K., Australia, and in New Zealand, where he makes his home. A regular contributor to Asimov’s, his story “Crimson Birds of Small Miracles”, set in the art world of Shilinka Switalla, won both the Sir Julius Vogel Award, and the Asimov’s Readers Poll Award, for best short story. He is a past winner of the Jim Baen Memorial Award, and the Amazing Stories Award. Sean writes from a nook in a corner of his 110 year old home, usually listening to eighties music. Award-winning author, Sean Monaghan has published more than one hundred stories in the U.S., the U.K., Australia, and in New Zealand, where he makes his home. A regular contributor to Asimov’s, his story “Crimson Birds of Small Miracles”, set in the art world of Shilinka Switalla, won both the Sir Julius Vogel Award, and the Asimov’s Readers Poll Award, for best short story. He is a past winner of the Jim Baen Memorial Award, and the Amazing Stories Award. Sean writes from a nook in a corner of his 110 year old home, usually listening to eighties music.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Cara Silmar crouched to the dry stump, looking at the gorgeous orange, striated mushroom growing there. Its cap was the size of her palm, the surface shiny and slick, the edges a little ragged. It smelled rotten, as if it was channeling the decay of the stump.

The stump itself was crusty and dark. The top jagged and cracked where the trunk had broken. Maybe a meter or so in circumference, no higher than her bent knees. Pieces of thick bark still clung on, but many lay around on the ground, slowly decaying.

Tiny insects crept up the mushroom’s pithy white stem, making their way right into the gills. Tiny black things, like legless ants, moving by scissoring their bodies. Was this a symbiosis?

Around the very edge, the underside of the mushroom, there were tiny hanging bulbs, as if it was some local Christmas decoration. The bulbs were rich colors—royal blues and Spartan reds—and slightly translucent. A millimeter across. They hung on the thinnest of filaments. The insects crept their way along and seemed to suckle at the bulbs.

A nectar of some kind perhaps. Or maybe proteins.

Always hard to tell.

The stump was probably only a few years old. Here, the biosphere could be very dynamic. Things recycled quickly. The mushroom was part of that.

Convergent evolution. So similar to mushrooms back on Earth, and filling a similar niche—the mycelium would be all through the wood, and reaching on into the ground, spreading out for, perhaps, acres.

A cool breeze blew through and Cara pulled her collar closer. She was wearing gray pocket shorts and heavy boots, with half-calf socks, which made getting around relatively safe. A dark blue wicking shirt and a slim jacket. If the air continued cooling down she was going to regret not wearing more.

A flying animal landed on the stump, closing its wings. It stood like a bird, but had a fat face more like a tiny fox. From around her came the chirrups and cries of its close and distant relatives. Similar to birds, with feathers, but closer to mammals than to reptiles. No beaks, though they did lay eggs. Their wings had fingery claws like bats.

Foxbirds. So many species. Like finches back home. Each with their own characteristics.

This one tweeted at her and blinked. Its eyes were a gorgeous olivine yellow. The pupils were ovals, narrower top to bottom.

Hello there, Cara said. She wasn’t far from home, but there was always something new to see. You want to help me find some melomus?

It had been tough, this morning, finding any. As if she was looking in the wrong places. She needed to get better at foraging, that was for sure.

The foxbird hopped across the top of the jagged stump. A lightning strike perhaps. Some of the storms she’d seen lately had been real doozies.

Melomus were a delicious ground-growing fruit that she could often find around dead trees. They liked the ground, but needed the light of clearings. When a big tree fell, it tended to clear some others in its descent.

This clearing was about thirty meters long, fifteen across. The sky was a rich blue, with a few puffy clouds shining in the early sun. It would be a good day.

There were dozens, perhaps hundreds of saplings in the clearing. Thin-trunked and bright leafed, they rose with the eager energy of teenagers. Around them were grasses and ferns.

To the casual eye, this might just be mistaken for Earth. Somewhere in Oregon or the foothills in southern Chile. Maybe coastal New Zealand.

Closer inspection always revealed the differences.

The foxbird hopped to the edge of the stump and climbed slowly down. It’s feet were nimble, the toes stretching like fingers, with claws gripping at the decaying wood.

Bending its head, the foxbird peered under the mushroom, as Cara had.

Except that the foxbird’s nimble tongue darted out. A thin tube of a thing, wriggling like a snake. The tip went between the mushroom’s gills, returning with several of the little black insects adhering.

Cara put her hand on the damp, rough wood to steady herself.

The hapless insects vanished into the foxbird’s mouth, the tongue returning a moment later, gathering more. It was fascinating to watch. Amazing that this creature was so comfortable with her right there staring.

You’re making me hungry, she said, leaning in. She knelt, feeling damp