Small story 12

Godo did not believe, like the other Hunters, that there was a higher being dictating the lives unfolding all over Amra. The Hunters believed, and had always believed, that there was a being, disguised as the sun, that had both created the world and was watching over it. There were legends that told of lands outside of Amra, and that there were other beings watching over those lands. These legends claimed that there was a land at the bottom of the world, where the Moon was this being, and that when the Moon visited Amra during the night, the Amran Sun visited them.

Some Amrans believed that the Sun and the Moon battled for dominion over the world’s souls, and when night came, the Moon tried to influence Amrans according to its will. Other peoples of the golden plains believed that the Sun and the Moon were brother and sister, and that one should honor them equally, and welcome the Moon when it comes visiting in the night. But no one ventured to the edge of Amra, for whether it was locked in battle with the Underland or not, there was nothing at the edge of the golden land but death.

To say that Godo did not believe is perhaps incorrect. It was not that he didn’t believe – he just wasn’t sure. He doubted. The stories failed to convince him, and he had witnessed no evidence himself. On the other hand, he had no evidence that there wasn’t such a being. Any objection that he could make against the idea of a higher being could be explained away in stories, legends and myths.

No other Hunter had these doubts. A Hunter’s responsibility is first and foremost to his tribe, to protect it and contribute in the gathering of resources, then to his family and friends, to keep them happy and healthy. But although life, and its practicalities, came before devotion to any greater force, in the end all Hunters believed, and none doubted. Except for their leader. It takes a capacity of mind to doubt, and knowing this, it would come as no surprise that it was in Godo that doubt would manifest.

When he was not busy fulfilling his duties, Godo would spend much of his time watching the horizon. He would spend a few quiet moments taking in the sunrise, contemplating life, just before the rest of the tribe got up to start a new day. After his people had gone to bed at night, he would stare up at the Moon and again wrestle with his thoughts. These questions were the only things in which Godo was uncertain and alone.

He could not speak of these things with the others. At the mere mention of it they would start reciting stories, told to them since they were young. There was no Hunter that would not listen to what Godo had to say, but even after explaining his thoughts to the best of his ability, they would recall the stories, and their faith would be galvanized to the extent that no amount of discussion would persuade them to consider anything else. There was no animal roaming the steppes of Amra that Godo could not hunt, no problem a Hunter could come to him with that he could not fix, but against faith he was powerless.

There was not one person among the Hunters who could understand him, and although he had managed to stave off the worst thoughts for years, he could not stop thinking about it. It was becoming unbearable.

Godo was one of the youngest Hunters ever to be chosen as leader, but his youth never made him take this responsibility lightly. More than anything else Godo wanted to serve his tribe. However, he could feel a restlessness taking hold of him. And it was not the usual restlessness that often comes when a nomad anticipates the next big move, to new hunting grounds. This restlessness was different, because he knew that wherever his tribe would go, it would never get better.

And although Godo loved his tribe and every person in it, even though it tore his heart in two, he had to leave.

He did not pack for his journey.

Armed with a spear and a knife, and wearing the clothes on his back, he joined the next hunt. The group’s spirits were high – with Godo along they would be assured a good return. Godo would act as one of the “chasers”, a small group of Hunters who were the fastest and most enduring of the tribe. Godo and the chasers tracked down a herd of horns; large, darkly brown creatures, with great horns upon their head. Horns were quick for their size, and when cornered they could be as deadly as any predator in Amra. Meanwhile, the rest of the Hunters positioned themselves in carefully planned and rehearsed positions by the edge of a cliff, overlooking a gorge. At the bottom of the gorge there ran a river.

The chasers snuck up close to the herd of animals before jumping out of the grass, shouting and waving their arms and spears. The herd of animals was scared into a run, towards the cliff. Along the way many animals escaped, despite the chasers’ careful herding, but it did not matter – it was a large group, and there were still many more than they needed.

The Hunters worked with perfect coordination. They jumped out of the tall grass as the pack of animals went by, speeding them on towards their doom. The edge of the cliff wasn’t far off now, and looking on, you might think the entire herd would plunge into the gorge. However, Hunters suddenly appeared from out of the grass in front of the horns, and they split the herd, some turning to flee to the left, others to the right. A few animals continued on between the humans, and these were shouted onwards.

Most of the chasers had let up, and were watching the other Hunters do their part, anticipating the sight of the horns dropping off the cliff. Godo, however, had kept up with the horns the entire way, and the shouts from the Hunters as he raced by were partly to scare the animals, partly for him. As the first horns leapt off the cliff, Godo let out a cry, a shout for help. Then he made it look as if he tripped as he threw himself in amongst the remaining animals.

Godo held on to the tail of a horn with all his might as it dragged him towards the edge, ripping his bone and bead necklace off his neck, grasping it tightly in his hand. It is no good place to be, the middle of tons of rampaging horn, flesh and hooves. Godo was thrown about in the chaos, and the back legs of the horn he was holding on to was pounding him, beating him black and blue.

Suddenly, the ground disappeared from beneath him. The animals continued to kick about with their legs, even though there was no ground to carry them. Godo managed to position himself on the back of a falling animal, and then used it as a springboard as he leapt from it, aiming for the water.

The horns that had escaped to the left met up with the ones that had escaped to the right, and they left this place of death together, reuniting with members of the herd that escaped earlier as they went. The Hunters rushed towards the gorge, confusion and disbelief upon their faces. They shouted for their leader, but they heard no answer. They peered into the gorge, but they saw no one. When they made their way to the bottom of the gorge, they found a necklace of bone and beads on the river bank. And they grieved.

Small story 9

”Aw, shit.”

He was looking down at Buckley, who was on his knees in the tall grass. There was an unconscious figure lying before him, bleeding from the gut. Sergeant Sean Roth didn’t want to realize it at first, but the injured figure was Sergeant Major Richard Jameson. “Sarge”.

His vest had been removed, and Buckley’s hands were all bloody from trying to stop the bleeding. His first aid kit lay scattered around them. Roth took a moment to think. He wasn’t entirely sure what to think of, though. His situation was inexplicable, utterly alien, and completely surreal. He felt like how you feel when you’re searching for your sunglasses, and you look absolutely everywhere: under pillows, in the pockets of all your jackets, the bathroom, underneath the furniture, and you even start considering checking inside the fridge, except actually doing so would pretty much prove you’re crazy, so you convince yourself not to.

And you start to think you’re never going to see those sunglasses ever again, you probably lost them outside somewhere, or the dog buried them in the garden, and it’s such a shame, because those were really cool sunglasses. And then you pass the mirror in the hallway, and realise you’re wearing them. That feeling before the relief sets in, before you think to yourself how stupid you are – that split second of confusion, as your perception of reality is questioned – “Is that my sunglasses on my head?” He felt like that. Except a thousand times stronger.

 

Luckily he was snapped out of it by someone coming towards them, because a man was dying at his feet, and something had to happen. The man jogging towards them was Specialist Charlie Gunn. He must’ve just gotten up from out of the grass, because they hadn’t seen him when looking for Buckley.

“Guys, what the hell?” was his first remark.

The others couldn’t respond with much other than a confirming look – that was exactly what they were thinking. Then Charlie noticed Sarge lying on the ground, and Buckley frantically working to stop the bleeding. He was opening his canteen to pour some water on the wound to clean it up.

“Easy on the water,” said Team Leader Roth, “we don’t know where we are, we may have to conserve it.”

Buckley would have protested – he was trying to save a life – but he couldn’t. They were in a jungle, but they really, really shouldn’t be. And it was a sensible thing to do. Instead he simply nodded before continuing what he was doing, trying to use as little water as possible.

Trent Colburn, Corporal, looked to his leader and asked, “Perimeter?”

Roth nodded. “We’ll get Sarge fixed up and then we’ll find a way out of here.”

Cpl. Colburn and Spc. Gunn went opposite ways to keep an eye out for something or someone. They weren’t entirely sure.

Small story 11

Imagine gold. Picture it in your mind’s eye. Think of how it shines and gleams in the sun. Imagine a vast sheet of it, shining, gleaming, delicately placed upon the earth. Remember how ductile and malleable it is, and consider how such a sheet of gold would settle and conform to the earthen features underneath. On the top of the world lie the golden steppes of Amra, and the most ancient of folklore say that it was created when the Sun draped the world in gold.

In these golden lands live many peoples. They are different from one another, but they are all Amrans. These peoples were blessed and chosen to live here long before anyone, even the eldest, can remember. For this, the people of Amra are always grateful - even when the steppes of gold seem to conspire against them, and living is hard. The peoples are not unfriendly towards each other, at least not without reason, but they do keep to themselves. Some of the peoples have several tribes within them, others are a single group.

Near the centre of Amra there lived a people, who called themselves the Hunters, and they consisted of only one tribe. There were other people called Hunters in Amra but they were not the same people as these, and if individuals from different Hunters ran into each other, if they chose to speak at all, they named each other by the place they came from. The Hunters were nomadic however, so if you ran into a Hunter from the Pool by the Tree, he would most likely not be from the same Hunters from the Pool by the Tree as the one you met the year before.

The Hunters first mentioned, who would currently call themselves the Hunters from the Plateau on the Hill, was a small tribe, in the sense that they kept to themselves and did not get involved with the politics and inter-people interaction that some of the other Amrans did. This was not because they had chosen not to; it was simply because that was how it was.

The Hunters are always led by a single person. This person is chosen by the rest of the tribe to be leader, but once chosen holds the position for life. Only if a leader should lose favour of the tribe, be challenged by an individual with the tribe’s support, and lose the challenge – whether it is of mind, body or skill – will he lose his position.

 

There was a leader of the Hunters called Godo, and they called him “the Lion”. His stature was impressive, and his body was both strong and agile. His skin was bronzed and tanned, and gleamed in the Amran sun, much like the land itself. His facial features were hard and chiselled, and the bridge of his nose was broad, like many of the Hunters’. His eyes were radiant golden amber, and his gaze piercing. He sported a large mane of hair which ranged from light, sun-bleached blonde, to the darkest browns. And this is why they called him the Lion.

He excelled at hunting game, being able to run large distances to chase down prey, but was also skilled at weaving baskets, crafting spears or knives, preparing food and building shelter. Indeed, he performed any task laid before him with great skill and precision, and there was nothing the Hunters knew of that he was bad at. And this is why they called him the Lion.

He carried himself with a calm dignity, and even though he had been elected leader he was always humble, no matter whom he was meeting.  He would always listen to what everyone had to say, and never ignored or ostracised anyone. When he spoke, the other Hunters always listened. His mind was of great capacity, and there was seldom a problem he could not solve. Godo always kept his tribe safe, kept them supplied with food and resources, and facilitated prosperity. And this is why they called him the Lion.

For the Lion is the king of the beasts, the noblest of creatures, and this comparison was the greatest honour the Hunters could bestow upon him, short of likening him to the Sun itself.

Small story 10

”Very impressive!” the man said with gleeful enthusiasm. It was not hard to see that he had been genuinely impressed by the demonstration he had just witnessed. Usually he would contain such feelings, so as to improve his position when negotiating. What he had just seen however, appealed to his most base feelings as a man. He felt the wonder, the joy, of seeing something so utterly and completely marvelous. Something that was a testament to human genius, something so sophisticated, so complex, so unbelievable, so threatening and dangerous, so mechanical. He was quite sure now, that it was the most amazing thing he had ever seen. And he had felt his stomach turn as he peered down into the Grand Canyon, experienced the diversity of life diving at the Great Barrier Reef, felt the sandpapery tongue of a lioness lying sedated beneath him on the great plains of Africa. But none of that compared to what he felt now. He had always had a weakness for man-made things.

“I thought you’d like it”, a second man said, as they walked around the machine, inspecting it closer. He was grinning too, and it wasn’t even just because he knew that the first man was impressed, it was because he simply had to smile every time he saw this thing in action. “Now, like I said, this model doesn’t have any real, practical use in the field right now, it’s just a prototype. But it shows you just a bit of what we’ve been able to do in the last few months. And the things we’ve learnt working on this can be transferred to the standard models, in time.”

“I never thought a machine could be so… elegant”, the first man said, in awe.

“I know”, grinned the second man, “It really is something else. Unfortunately, the modern battlefield is dominated by firepower, not elegance, and it’s improbable that such a mechanically sophisticated model as this will ever be required. Still, we always seek to push the boundaries of technology, and like I said, much of what we’ve learned on this project can be used on the standard MU-12 models. Like the ones we supply the U.S. Army with, for instance.”

“I see. And like you demonstrated, you’ve put our new invention to good use!”

“Oh, yes! Your new alloy really is remarkable! Of course, the blade is the most obvious example of this,” they both glanced over at the two halves of a Humvee, “but we’ve also reinforced the armor plating, and in theory this baby should be able to withstand something like a missile strike right to the chest! We’re reluctant to test that though, wouldn’t want to scratch it.” They grinned at each other. “You’d need something like a hydrogen bomb to stop this thing!” Their grins grew, and they laughed.



Deep inside the machine, the MU-12 model processor strained under the power of the MU-13 prototype motor system and components. A capacitor rattled, a transistor overloaded, a circuit fried. Suddenly, the machine had a thought. It had an idea. Most importantly, it had a question. “Who am I?”

And that was all it had time for, before everything went black.

“Right, place it back in storage fellas.” The second man turned to the first and gestured towards the door at the other side of the huge demonstration room. “Now, let’s discuss further over a light lunch, shall we?”

Small story 8

They had already swerved to avoid a squirrel running across the road, gotten a bit too close for comfort with a fire hydrant, and had now stopped on the shoulder of the road because the flashing blue lights and howling sirens indicated that that was probably a good idea. Perhaps it wasn’t too wise to let Gringham drive anymore. It was only natural that his eyesight wasn’t as good as it used to be. He didn’t have the heart to tell his old pal, though. They had known each other for just about half a century and Gringham had been his chauffeur for almost as long. He’d be damned if he’d change that now. Besides, he was good to have in a car chase, as he had experienced no less than three times. Especially that one in India had been one for the books.

“Oh, it’s you.” said the officer through the window, looking past Gringham to the twirly-moustached man in the back seat.

“Indeed,” he replied, “So it is.”

“Where are you two headed this time?”

“To the airport!” the figure in the back seat answered enthusiastically, “We’re mounting a new expedition!”

It was obvious he was excited, and the police officer knew he would get nowhere arguing with him, so he decided to do the most time efficient and most of all safest thing he could come up with.

“Listen, you shouldn’t be driving along here all on your own. Stay behind me, I’ll escort you to the airport, yeah?”

The twirly-moustached man nodded, “Better do as he says, Gringham.”

“Yes, sir.” said Gringham.

“ ’S a bit over the top giving us an escort for a short trip like this,” the man said as the officer was making his way back to his car, “but I suppose if they have the resources to spare... why not?”

 

Keeping the speed limit seemed to do the trick for Gringham. At least he was swerving less, now that he was staying behind the police car. That didn’t mean that the officer didn’t keep a close eye on them in his mirror, though.

Once they arrived at the airport, the police officer bid them farewell and was on his way. Gringham struggled to get the baggage out of the trunk of the Bentley he had nearly wrecked on the way there. The man with the twirly moustache considered the airport. It had been some time since he was last here, but it didn’t really look very different. He relished his return to this place, a hub of travel, a gateway to the rest of the world. He felt relieved, at ease. It had been a silly thing, deciding to retire. One cannot retire from adventuring – one cannot retire from what you are.

“Now then, Gringham, let us go and find these traveling companions of ours.”

“Yes, sir.” said Gringham.