The Station, Part 62

I’ve decided to rest for now and ponder my situation for now. My modified form makes it quite easy to stretch onto the thick branches and their broad leaves and relax muscles that have been taut from extended exertion. It is my own thoughts that are more difficult to put at ease. Was it a mistake to leave the ground? I have found little in the way of food or a clear path. There has been no help, no assistance rendered by natives. And for that matter, no natives to speak of. No sign of movement other than these things that expand and contract, stretch and rebound all at their own paces. What happened to all of that? I’ve led, given silent instruction on what to eat and shown the proper path to my destination. Why would all of that just cease. Perhaps I don’t require it any longer. Perhaps I am that close and made an error very late in the journey. I could just climb back down and seek the way on foot, but then my way would be an extremely difficult one. Without some kind of assistance other than my hands it is most likely an impossible task. And what use would my newly designed hands and feet, my elongated arms, all be for?

No, I am doing the right thing? You agree don’t you? You have been with me this entire journey, intercepting the transmissions that I send via this thing that allows me to speak to the outer world. I know it still works because when I remove it to examine this odd thing, it emits a small green light. There are other marking upon it which I do not understand but I don’t think they’re important. I think it’s that green light that must remain so that I can speak to you. Just keep listening. I still know it’s important to me that you do. I’ll need help to remember why I came back. When I’m back.

Taking a very long look at my surroundings gives me no answers. I gaze upward as far as my straining eyes will allow and see nothing more than tree trunk, branches and leaves. What sort of nature allows for a life form of this size to exist? I guess at high oxygen atmosphere and low gravity for a likely combination. It would also explain my relative ease of ascent and relative lack of fatigue. I really do feel like I could go on and on. There is no tree tall enough to keep me at bay. So I’ve settled on doing just that—climb until there is no more room to move. I don’t know if it is what I must do, but there is no other way to know until I do it. So I’m done here. Upward I go then.

Sometimes the greatest discoveries come purely by accident. That is how I’ve managed to find both food and water so far up here in the canopy. All because of a minor slip. It wasn’t a potentially fatal error. Although now I am much more aware of the precarious position I really have put myself into. I was hopping to another section of truck, enjoying my ease of movement when, in my slight overconfidence, missed my mark and made a grab for the nearest handhold—one of those pulsing forms I have been taking certain small detours to avoid. To my immediate horror, and then quickly dawning realization and relief, the contact was a welcome surprise. As my hand broke the bulbous protrusion, a wonderful smell rose into the air. And what emitted the wonderful scent was the fruit of the interior. What once revulsion quickly became ravenous hunger, a lust that was second only to the one I felt for that lone fruit of the savanna. I hardly chewed that one. With the second I was more methodical. Once I pried away the bulb from the truck, I discovered it to be attached to several small venous connections. Separating it from these links proved unproblematic and I as soon as I do so, the pulsing ceased; this no longer made a difference to me. It was as if the formally unsettling undulations were never an issue. Hunger can be that powerful.