The story itself is pretty stupid, really. But since you’re all pressing me so hard, I’ll tell it.
I ended up here completely by accident. Seriously. I sprained my ankle at work and went to the emergency room. I’m sitting there, waiting my turn, when suddenly a bunch of guys in camouflage burst in, armed to the teeth. Yelling: “Doctor! Is there a doctor here?”
Well, I went and raised my hand.
To be fair, I’ve always had a strange sense of humor. Once, back in school, a local cop came to our class and casually asked, in a buddy-buddy way: so what, boys, you shooting up?
“Shooting up,” I say. And I show him my arm, with a little hole drawn on the vein.
Next thing — juvenile detention, being put on a watch list, and a preventive belt from my stepfather. I could say it taught me something about life, but I won’t lie. Because if people are acting weird — why not act like an idiot too?
Long story short, the soldiers grabbed me by the arms and dragged me outside. And there — Holy Mother of God! The sky was purple, split by lightning like cracked glass. The grass was burning, birds were dropping dead out of the air. We got into an armored vehicle and floored it. I tried to ask what the hell was going on, but they convinced me pretty quickly not to ask questions — the military knows how to do that. We didn’t drive far. We turned into an underground parking garage of some half-finished building, which turned out to be a full-on bunker. And under the bunker — what do you think — a rocket, ready for launch!
That’s how I ended up among the lucky few evacuated from Earth.
I don’t have much to say about interplanetary travel. Space is black, the trip was long. Mostly I slept in the cargo hold in a cryogenic chamber. Sometimes they woke me up, but thankfully for nonsense: when some big shot’s blood pressure spiked or a pimple popped up on his nose. I prescribed aspirin and tea with lemon, and to avoid further disturbances explained that I was a pediatrician and didn’t really know my way around adults.
“But I can give you a lollipop and check your reflexes,” I said. “Want one?”
Nobody wanted one.
Two of our starships made it to the destination. Which was already not bad, because the Americans had half their rockets fail to launch at all, and the rest either lagged behind or got lost. Well, good riddance.
We, wrapped in the tricolor, landed on a nice green-and-blue planet orbiting a yellow star. There were, however, nuances. One shuttle landed near the equator, the other closer to the polar circle. The second one carried the Boss — and all the technological gadgets meant to make colonial life at least somewhat comfortable. So while they had equipment, we found ourselves in the jungle with our bare asses out. Well, at least it was warm.
The place was stunning, of course: parrots, bananas, mountains smoking in the distance. Lions dragged off a politicianon the very first night. Naturally, problems started immediately. Very few people present were capable of making fire without a lighter and YouTube instructions, let alone building a hut or getting food. The starship crew tried to show off at first, but their amateur initiatives were thoroughly chewed out at an organizational meeting, and they calmed down. All in all, we lost a third of the colonists in the first few months.
Then we more or less got used to it. There was no fuel left in the shuttle, no contact with the second group. We made a strategic decision to explore the planet in their direction.
There were two of us doctors. The other one, luckily, was real. A good man — figured me out right away but didn’t rat me out. Said: you’ll carry bedpans and wash bandages; just don’t go near patients. He explained how things got so bad with specialists. They learned about the catastrophe in the Kremlin somewhat in advance and managed to build five rockets. But the closer it got to launch, the more actively engineers, scientists, agronomists, and other smart people were crossed off the lists — replaced by oligarchs, officials, their children, wives, mistresses, and members of their entourages: hairdressers, journalists, cooks, bartenders. One idiot even brought his personal driver. A separate rocket was allocated for security forces, to immediately take control upon arrival — but according to rumors, it never took off.
So they panicked when there was fifteen minutes left until Doomsday: discovered that for six ministers, fifteen deputies, and four dozen top managers, there were only a couple of people who could screw in a lightbulb — and even those got on board by accident. And what if someone important urgently needed, say, a Botox injection? Soldiers were ordered to grab anyone who looked remotely smart and drag them into the rocket. So they did.
I tried not to stand out. Built myself a little shack, went fishing at the river, warmed myself in the sun, watched crocodiles. There weren’t many children among the colonists, and those that existed died without ever seeing a doctor — poorly adapted to life outside private schools. As a result, I remained a respected member of the community, unburdened by special duties, which suited me just fine.
One day I see a pretty girl sitting on a rock, combing thorns out of her hair. I walk up: well, let’s get acquainted, after all, we live on the same planet. She looks bored.
“You’re that pediatrician, right?” she yawns.
Well, I snapped. Not a pediatrician at all, I say angrily.
Then who?
So I confessed.
A tightrope walker, I say.
She didn’t believe me at first, but then — God, how she laughed! Scared all the parrots in the area. I even got a little offended. Started explaining that tightrope walking is a complex, dangerous, and noble art. Back in Ancient Rome —
“Rome?” she laughs. “What happened to it?”
“Tightrope walking is a fine line.”
“A fine line? The rope is this thick!”
Anyway, kids — that’s not how I met your mother.
Of course she told everyone. After that, life in the colony became unbearable. You go to the river — and from all sides: hey, I stretched a clothesline here, want to take a walk? And who were they mocking, anyway — they couldn’t do a damn thing themselves! They started carving insults about me into stones, defiling the doorway of my hut. I got kicked out of the infirmary, naturally. I could feel it coming: soon they’d tell me to pack my things and disappear into the jungle.
Which hurt, because tightrope walkers have always been respected people. Well, almost always. At first they didn’t even let us near churches — that was in the Middle Ages. But after that, centuries of great history. And not for nothing: our tribe produced genuine geniuses. One crossed Niagara Falls blindfolded on stilts, stopped in the middle of the rope to drink a beer. Another asked to be shot at with fireworks while crossing the Neva on a cable. A third stretched a rope between two hot-air balloons and strolled along it like a seaside promenade — without any safety gear. I was nowhere near their level, sure, but I still deserved at least a scrap of glory and a quarter of an army ration for dinner!
I tried to explain. No success. But they didn’t get the chance to kick me out — because I was kidnapped.
You see, from the very first days, our pleasant self-image as the first and only inhabitants of the planet was spoiled by the natives. Odd, wiry little creatures hid in the bushes, howled something like “tumba-yumba” at night, stealing our sleep, and pilfered soda and chips — supplies that were already running out without their help. We were just considering a large-scale operation to force the natives into peace, when my exposure happened.
One day, particularly upset, I went for a walk in the savannah to cool off. And fell into some pit. I sat there calling for help until the stars came out. Then the stars disappeared, and I got really depressed — thought, great, now it’s going to rain. But those weren’t clouds. It was the locals. They pulled me out, took me to their village. I was afraid they’d eat me — and as I later learned, that option was discussed. But fools are lucky: I pointed at the sky so energetically in response to any questions that they decided I’d fallen from the Moon. Thanks to my white skin, I became a sort of talisman: before every hunt, fishing trip, or marriage ritual, people came to touch me to receive heavenly blessing. It took a lot of effort to teach them to shake hands like normal people.
They gave me an honorary mat and a guard, fed me well, didn’t mistreat me. I slowly learned their language, made useful connections, started exchanging looks with girls. Decent folks, really — just hopelessly pre-modern. But that’s not a problem; back in the circus we had a guy who slept next to sea lions. Meanwhile, my own people were apparently going feral — more than once chaotic gunfire echoed from the colony, and once there was an explosion so strong coconuts fell from palm trees. The natives packed up their simple camp and moved closer to the mountains.
Everything would’ve been fine, if not for the dragon. Or rather, that’s what I later told everyone. You, however, should grow up educated, so understand: it was a regular volcanic eruption combined with an earthquake. The noise was terrifying, ash poured from the sky, trees slid into a massive crack that split the plateau; then antelopes, rhinos, and other animals followed. Lava flowed. Total mess.
My people were scared shitless. Ran up, fell at my feet: some sort of white sky-god, save us! And what was I supposed to do? I didn’t escape one apocalypse just to die in another. I put on a stern face, stepped out of the hut with my back straight. Squinted to see through the smoke. Things were bad: lava advancing from three sides, and on the fourth — a beautiful green plain. Only problem: between us, a freshly formed canyon, hundreds of meters wide, bottom invisible.
And directly across the abyss, a single tree stood, miraculously clinging to the edge.
I looked at the tree. Then at the people.
“Do you have any rope?”
“What happened next? Dad, tell us!”
“You know perfectly well. You’ve heard it a thousand times.”
“Tell it anyway! Please!”
“Fine. They found me a rope. I made a lasso, threw it across, right onto the tree, and ordered the other end wrapped around a big boulder. I grabbed two kids under my arms and carried them across. Then came back for two more. And more. Then the adults. With them it was tricky: I put them on my back and told them not to move. Of course they squirmed and screamed — how could they not? And that’s how I moved the whole tribe. I was in a terrible hurry. By the end my back was giving out, my legs buckling. When I went back for the last one, the lava was already at the edge. The fool panicked, climbed onto the rope himself — and I was already in the middle! He took one step, another, stumbled on the third — and fell. Remember, kids: the rope does not tolerate amateurs.”
“And then what? Did you fall too?”
“Are you stupid? You know Dad didn’t fall.”
“But they say Dad fell and then flew…”
“He didn’t fly. He spread his arms like this! Like a bird! Spread them, held on, and came back. You think they draw him that way for nothing?”
“Yeah, the pose is amazing. And with the sun behind him…”
“Then where did the cross in the picture come from?”
“Oh, you want everything explained. Remember how I said I have a strange sense of humor…?
Hm, hear that? The drums are beating! Go on, run — help your mother with the sacrifice!
If people behave strangely — why not act the fool once more…?”
