LUCKY NEBO – a Concept Art Writing Prompt response to io9, “A Farmer Makes a Trade with Aliens”

This is A quickwrite for the io9 “Concept Art Writing Prompt: A Farmer Makes a Trade with Aliens” based on Anthony Wolff’s “Six-Million Dollar Cow” put up on December 29, 2012

Nebo whined curiously.  Even after so many trips, he could not get used to their visits. Loyally, he went alone with Lucky, who had hummed over the bumps the whole way in the old truck. Nebo was miserable, hanging his snout over the leather seat. He could smell them the moment they hit the atmosphere. The towering giants reeked like the cattle barn. They did not smell like the cows in their stalls. Even wrapped in heat, they did not smell like steaks sizzling in this permanent summer. They smelled same as the big pile of fermenting dung that steeped under the tarp and tires next to the barn—if you set them ablaze. Even then, the towering Manurals had one thousand times the pungency of the compost heaps would in the worst of conditions.

The Manurals were kind creatures. Their abundant crops had become the silo for intergalactic colonization and relief efforts, for famine caused by glitches in terraforming, unexpected ice ages, volcanic setbacks, and eco-warfare and other biochemical mishaps. Superabundance on their planet had led to millennia without warfare. And their introduction to a brutal and greedy universe had fomented pity. They traded halfheartedly and had still met with phenomenal success. Fortunately, they did not care much for the foreign politics of those they considered the underabundants, which was pretty much every species. Rather shy, they took no offense to the lack of invitations to galactic galas and remote-links to dignitary meetings.

Part of the superabundance of their planet’s ecosystem derived from the nose-less Manurals themselves. Manural waste was a rich, sticky nutrient that gathered on their backs in the furuncle-ish sacks they called “glinkle blossoms”.  Glinkle was used domestically and as an export for fuel, fertilizer, construction glue, and a key ingredient in almost all consumer products from caustic oven cleaners to soda pop. Nevertheless, there would never be a great tourist economy on Manural. It also made for uncomfortable client relations.

At great loss of profit, most trade with the Manurals had to be done through intermediaries. Cybernetic emissaries were sent from over half the species in the IG Trade Union, but they were costly and prone to breakdown in the high heat and humidity of Manural, which was rather beautiful and lush from all reports.

Nebo whines again, hoping to hurry along the exchange. There was no one else to be seen around.  Other settlers had set up far from the dairy, which was infamous for its giant cows. The colony was ripe for cattle ranching; it was rich in endless grain and naturally occurring airborne bacteria that fed on methane. During high seasons, the bacteria floated like dandelion tufts. But no other settlers had such a talent, or tolerance, for cattle. But Farmer Lucky had lost his nose in the fourth war. He saved a bundle trading directly with the Manurals, never understanding why people bothered with costly cybernetic employees or other middle men. Slightly refined glinkle was the key to his success. It caused gigantism in the cows and crops. Once distilled to hell, the glinkle also gave a special umph to the Lucky Moonshine that fuelled ships and travellers for long trips.

Nebo hated the regular visits by these galactic rednecks, kind as they were. They would toss sticks far with their branchlike arms trying to include him. Normally, Nebo would find fetch beneath him. After all, he was a psychically augmented dog, fully emancipated. He had stayed with Lucky after the war and never left. Loyalty had not been bred out of the best of them. Besides, he felt too skittish to be a good companion and breeding lots required too much conversation. On these days, he ached to see the stick whiz far into the horizon away from Lucky and the Manurals. He would rush into the wind, fast as possible, to fill his nose with a burning surplus of air and kicked-up dirt. Slowly, playing on his age, he would wander back slowly and look limply up at Lucky.

Nebo finally resigned himself as Lucky shook hands and laughed, “You have to come up to the house one of these days. You’re mighty tall, but I am working on a little lounge in one of the barns. You all need to get out more—talk to people. Always better business with a little moonshine and a proper sit.” One of the Manurals nodded emphatically—if they could smile, Nebo swore that he saw it then—and the other tossed the giant cow over its shoulder and prepared to depart. “Next time,” repeated Lucky.

“Next time… “ thought Nebo with a whimper, jumping into the passenger side of the truck.