Editor's note: this story contains scenes of incest or incest content.
*****
Please, note that the Blueskins enjoy sex and incestual relations as acceptable societal norms. Sex is woven into the tapestry of their saga as intricately as the FaqWadi thatch weaves are woven into their homes. With the demise of nearly the entire Blueskin population some 5,000 cycles [years] ago in episode one, they adapted these new norms as a means of attempting to repopulate the planet and avoid an extinction level event. Blueskins have no matrimonial associations. Mothers raise their offspring without attachments to any father figure.
In the Return of the FaqWadi, Episode One, the Professor translates the first face of an ancient stone monolith found buried deep in the FaqWadi Rain Forest. If the translation is accurate and true, his findings hold a critical key to the origins of the Rise of the Blueskins from among the demise of their warring, multi-colored-skin ancestors. More importantly, it serves as a harbinger of the intent of the three malevolent FaqWadi sisters who wreaked havoc with the planet's ecosystem.
If you did not get a chance to read the first episode, I suggest you read it prior to this journey back into the FaqWadi Rainforest. It will make more sense if you do.
++++
Return of the FaqWadi - Episode II
"Sir? Sir! Did you hear me?" I asked my publisher, with some since of anger, as I covered the last of the more salient points of the translation. I had made the long trek back to civilization to seek publication of my findings and had been told my publicist wasn't able to meet with me for two sunrises. Too busy with the Blueskin societal record society, his secretary had said. And now, face to face with him, he seemed to be so dismissive as I provided him the gist of my findings and translation notes.
His weathered fingers were woven behind his neck as he sat staring up at the grass thatch overhead. His mind was certainly preoccupied. It seemed as though I wasn't getting through to him. So, I changed course in my approach.
"Of course, we still have two other sides of the sentinel monolith to decipher. But I do have the promise of a large team of upper-level graduates to assist me. The Blue Skin University is providing that assistance at no cost to this project, so we can expect to expedite the translations of the second and third sides at a faster pace. So, what do you think, sir? Can you fund me for another year in this research?" I pushed for a definitive answer hoping the 'free services' from the university might move him toward my goal of refunding the expedition.
His answers were slow to come and came in the form of questions, "How do you even know this is not some idiotic prank? There is nothing remotely recorded anywhere in our Blue Skin history about some absurd Blade Sage legend like the translation you have dropped on my desk! Why should I publish such rubbish and risk the reputation of my establishment in the eyes of the government documentalists and the general public at large? Furthermore, why should I fund another year for something that seems too incredible for general distribution?" His cream-colored irises enlarged matching the rise in his tone. I kept my thoughts on that to myself. Publicists had always been too preoccupied, in my mind, with incurring the wrath of governmentalist; afraid of retribution as was becoming more frequent in the last three hundred cycles.
I drew in a deep breath, trying to maintain a level of civility in my response at his audacity to imply my work was tainted by an absurd claim of fakery. Even though he professed no connection to the Blade Sage lineage, once more I addressed him by his coveted title, "Emanuele, Great Godson 3030 of the Second Blade Sage," I intoned his name paying the appropriate reverence. I nearly choked on the words, but managed to get them out of my craw as evenly and hopefully with a tone of sincerity, as we locked eyes to eyes.
"I've spent two cycles in the remotest jungles of our world - a place where even pranksters would not have gone out of their way to bury a one-hundred-fifty-foot stone relic. Its archaic language is far too consistent in syntax and consistent throughout the entire script to be faked. The samples of the stone and its weathering have been sent to the university and my colleagues are telling me that the materials are extremely rare on our planet. Besides the weathering patterns are consistent with thousands of cycles of time - pre-dating modern writings. I could feel the realness of it as I dug every layer of dirt away from it, just to get down to the base."
Then, I added for emphasis, "If you turn down this opportunity for further research, you could be easily letting one of the greatest archeological finds of our ancestry slip through your hands. Or, you could be the publicist known for finding a missing link to our heritage - possibly your great heritage." I let the last words fall with finality and stood waiting for the message to sink into the weathered Blueskin of antiquity seated before me. Finding a direct link to his own ancestry would definitely put him in great standing with the National Registry of Original Blueskins.
His blue cheeks puffed outward as he muddled on my words, "So the students are free - no charge to me? And you stay at the same pay?" he said with a hint of greed slipping through an attempt to cajole me into taking the bait of his proposal.
"The university is donating the student time; they get class credit for the project. I need more equipment, better shelter, and - you know my pay should reflect the importance of this find," I spoke in response to his questions. If I were going to go back into that Blade forsaken place for another year, I was determined to get some proper recognition for my effort. If not him, then there are bound to be others with broader perspectives and less fear of governmentalist to be courted.
"I'll give it some thought," he finally managed to say as he took measure of my stance and the seriousness of my tone. Our contract had run its course and, with the delivery of my translation today, he is obligated to publish it. I was certain the once it was published and I became a free agent again, other interested parties would be seeking my services for their own research efforts. He knows that. I knew he could read my determination, just as well as I could read the greed that oozed from his pores.
I awaited his answer in my hut, anxiously pacing and watching, through my open doorway, as the sun's zenith approached its height over the monolith located in our mega-village center. Although our monolith did not have inscriptions like my find, it still was guarded by a contingent of governmentalist Blueskins keeping everyone at bay. I thought about the translation and the pulse that would be given out at the zenith of our sun, overhead. The thought that the governmentalist must also know about the pulse crossed my mind as I watched the guards taking instrumental readings around the monolith at the high point of the day. After several heads gathered, and nodded, they put away their instruments. One of them slid into the seat of a nearby lander and carried the readings away at high speed.
Word came, finally. I got the okay to proceed and with everything I'd ask for as well. It marked a great and rewarding day in my archeological explorations into the origins of the Blueskin Peoples!
I spent a week organizing equipment and work teams, coordinating the events with the university staff. Word spread to the news associations of our efforts to return and continue exploring the FaqWadi forests. So too, it seems that the governmentalist learned of the approval for another year's approval to continue the dig. Several new lander vehicles with obscure markings appeared in the village, but none approached me or my team as we made ready for the long journey.
Although journalists asked to cover our dig, I turned them down - far too remote and dangerous, I told them. In truth, there would be no reason to let journalists infiltrate our team and potentially leak our findings to the governmentalist. But I promised them great details when we returned. I kept an eye on the landers with obscure markings and noted their armaments, not so well hidden from my keen eyes. I could sense their intentions were to follow us, but surmised they would no doubt stay out of eyesight. Governmentalist were the anthesis of the freedom of knowledge as far as I was concerned. They worked as hard at burying the truth as we archeologists worked at uncovering it.
++++
Return to the FaqWadi Jungle's Sentinel Monolith Dig Site
We made the arduous journey through the grassy plains and then into the dense FaqWadi Forest in ten sunrises, finally arriving at the original base camp at midday. The long trek had worn out the team, but they would soon become accustomed to the strenuous process of reclaiming artifacts from the ancient site during the next year. I watched as individuals began to assist one another in setting up a new base camp, some directing and others readily following. As they worked, I could already detect the natural leaders among them. I would come to depend on them to maintain a well-organized dig as the next year progressed.
I wandered away from the encampment to check on the dig site. I hadn't expected to see any difference from when I left it a few weeks ago. What I hadn't expected to see, however, was someone deep into the muck and already covered with grime eagerly scrapping away at the corner of the monolith even before camp was made. Seeing my shadow cast over her, she glanced with excitement spreading across her grimy face. Rather than following the others in campsite preparations, this one, couldn't wait to get into the dig. One after my own heart, I thought.
"Professor, I've been cleaning debris further out to the edges from your transcriptions of the main text. I found these faint markings along the boarders shaped like small wings. There are others at various points that appear as small spears. Any idea about their meaning, professor?" the young Blueskin asked as I watched the beads of sweat trickling between her breasts while she labored in the muck. I could sense the smell of her musk wafting up out of the pit. It smelled of excitement at a new discovery and the ripeness of one ready to join. Her sexual allure was intriguing. An ancient script translation came to mind as I watched her smile radiate from ear to ear at her discovery - fuck: to join with another; to pleasure with great intensity - it read. Right now, I could really relish fucking this one right down into that pit like a whorgot in heat!
"No, Raven 3030, I had not noticed those. You have a good eye! Be sure to record those in your field notes for review in my hut tonight," I smiled, watching her face light up at the hint of joining with me after nightfall. It was just a small lie that I told. Told just to encourage her to explore more eagerly. Of course, I knew the symbols were there and that they had significant meaning, but had not included them in the research I presented to my publisher. A good archeologist doesn't give away all his knowledge in the first drafts!
++++
