Before you lies the first of the Fables from
Elsewhere. Within, you will find a strange world with strange creatures--and
a not so strange message. Read if you must, enjoy if you dare-and the light
of Tarsaillius will smile upon you.
When the suns finally rise and the thaw comes, the sladlours burrow their way out of the dirt. Each finds a tlinger bush to call home for the Season of Living.
After one particularly late thaw, the first sladlour to emerge was an old one. He had large wrinkle-folds in his sides and scars on his front from many years of climbing through tlingers. He selected a small bush for his home and set to work at once, eating the nectar hairs off its razor-sharp spines.
Soon, a younger sladlour arrived to claim a much larger tlinger bush next to the old sladlour's small one. The young sladlour immediately made himself comfortable: he found a shady central spot in which to nest, with convenient low-hanging branches to nibble on. He watched the old sladlour for a while, then called out to him, “Why are you eating so much—and from such a small bush?”
The old sladlour replied, “You would be wise to get started on your own bush before the swarm gets here, my friend. The nectar hairs attract them, you know.”
“The swarm could never get into this bush,” the young sladlour replied. “It is too big, too deep—and I shall be here in the center. You should have chosen this bush for yourself when you had the chance.”
“That bush is too big for me—and it is too big for you, too. When the swarm gets here, it will get into that bush.” Even as he spoke, the old sladlour knew that his words were falling on deaf ears.
“Why should I believe you?” the young sladlour snapped back.
“Because,” said his elder, “I am still alive.”
The young sladlour went silent, and for a moment there was a glimmer of hope in the old sladlour's mind. It passed, though, as the young sladlour simply shrugged and rolled over.
Many cycles later, the old sladlour's bush was nearly bare; only the lowest branches still carried nectar hairs. The old sladlour was bloated almost to the point of immobility, and his front was speckled with droplets of his own blood. The young sladlour laughed at him, but the old sladlour just brushed off his taunts. For in the distance, he could hear a sickening drone: the swarm was coming. Calmly, he went about his business, knowing that he had just enough time to complete his feeding.
As the young sladlour heard the sound, it made his crest curl. He suddenly felt unsure. Doubting his previous assessment, he started eating ravenously. The sound grew louder. He looked over at the old sladlour, who had completely finished stripping his bush and now lay motionless on his back in the very center. The young sladlour panicked and began to make his way toward the old sladlour's bush, but it was too late: the swarm had already begun to surround his own bush. Drawn by the nectar, they fell upon it like rain. Wave after wave were impaled on its spines—yet there seemed to be no end to them. Gradually, the bush's defenses were being blunted by corpses.
After what seemed an agonizingly long period of time, the inevitable happened: the swarm frenzied, devouring everything in their path, everything—even their own dead. Once they had rendered the bush utterly bare, they rose up from it and moved on. Soon, they were nothing more than a distant drone, growing ever quieter.
The young sladlour was nowhere to be seen.
The old sladlour righted himself and crawled over to the safety of the larger tlinger bush.
What would a post-apocalyptic near humanless future really be like? No zombies, aliens or despots clad in old tires--in fact, no evil or malice of any kind? But a future built of good can make a nonbeliever appear a zealot! Below is the first of the twelve parts of my novella "The Remnant."
As yet unpublished, but honorably mentioned in "Leading Edge magazine."
His eyes opened at seven a.m. as if it were any other day.
And yes, he was in bed—but he was not at home.
It appeared to be a hospital room, but certainly not like any hospital room he'd ever been in. The bed was far too comfortable, and there were no sheets or blanket. He was wearing what seemed to be generic hospital pajamas. To the right stood a man: graying beard and hair, some wrinkles, distinguished but quite physically fit. A doctor, perhaps. On the other side sat a pretty teenaged girl: round face, slender neck, dark hair, and bearing a slight resemblance to the man. They had the same eyes, color and shape. Both wore white medical coats—the only things here that looked at all familiar. For the room, though sparse and neat, was somehow strange; it made him feel as if he were in another country. The walls had a subtle texture that complemented their decoration: the faint images of flowers. And, they seemed to move. The look was pleasing to the eye, but not showy. It was as if the walls had chosen for themselves the most calming color and feel that he could imagine. He felt, at once, strangely comforted—and apprehensive.
“How do you feel?” asked the girl.
He had not even had time to think of himself yet. That’s right, he now recalled, I’m dying of cancer—yet, I feel just fine.
Her voice was sweet, yet mature: “Do you understand me, Louiston?”
“Lou. Please, call me Lou.” The sound of his own voice surprised him. “I—I can’t remember feeling better.” At that instant, he remembered the cryogenics experiment. “It worked!” he cried. “I’m alive! This is the future. What year is this?”
The older man stepped forward. “It is 2361 by the calendar with which you're familiar. My name is Reekus, and this is my daughter, Annaya. Now, let me answer most of the questions you undoubtedly have.” Reekus swept a hand toward the walls. “We are in a scientific facility equipped with specialized medical equipment. This is the closest thing to a hospital that we still require in this time period. We are in the city of Toronto, Canada—but 'Canada' is not a country any more. There are no countries any more; we are all citizens of Earth. There is no such thing as pollution; the air and water are clean. You don't need money; we no longer use it. On a more personal level, your pancreatic cancer is gone, and you are now in perfect health.”
"Cured? Completely? How?" He enthused as he peeked under his nightshirt.
Reekus shook his head. "You'll find no scar. All the bad cells were removed during your reconstitution. But, you can learn more about that later." He folded his hands in front of him. “I'm sure that you must be concerned about what became of your family and friends.”
“We…” Lou's mind was reeling; he swallowed, began again. “We had time to make amends, say our goodbyes, before I was … frozen.” He shook his head. “It seems like that was just five minutes ago!”
Reekus and Annaya both nodded, looking at each other.
“Still,” Lou continued, “I would like to know if I have any … descendants.”
Reekus nodded again. “We can try to find that out later. My daughter and I have both studied your time period, to better help you into our own. She is also here because I have found that subjects awakening for the first time feel less threatened with a younger person present.”
“Then—there are more?”
“Yes, there are others from your time, but it is unlikely that you would know any of them. Besides, we have only been able to salvage a handful of them.”
“How many?”
“Aside from you, there are five other Remnants.”
“Remnants?”
Annaya spoke up: “‘Remnants’ is the term we use for the people we have successfully salvaged from cryogenic facilities.”
Reekus continued: “We have found three hundred and seventy-six people so far. Unfortunately, most have decayed, or begun to decay, due to power failures at various sites. You are one of just fourteen salvageable from your location, out of about one hundred stored there. And, only the sixth from any of the sites to be reconstituted.”
Lou looked at Annaya questioningly. “Re—?”
"Reconstituted—controlled direct energy matter transfer. We use the technology in our replicators, that's how we make everything from food to buildings; we use it in our particle transporters, they allow us to move people and things vast distances; and we also use the technology to 'fix' people, like you. We deconstitute anything we no longer need too—it just gets turned back into energy. It was initially intended to provide an unlimited supply of food and other necessities. Essentially, it—”
“I believe,” Reekus interrupted, “our ‘patient’ might have more interest in our technology later, my dear. Perhaps he is hungry.” He turned back to Lou: “Would you like something to eat?”
“Coffee. I would like some coffee. Do you still have it in this time?”
“We can recreate anything of which we have a record, including coffee.” Reekus gestured toward the door. “Come, now; let's see if we can get you onto your feet. Sit up for a moment, and let's see how you feel.”
Lou complied. A slight rush of dizziness came over him, but it quickly passed. His tone was confident: “I think I can stand up now.”
“Please, put these on”—Reekus pointed at a pair of slip-on shoes next to the bed—“and follow me. The cafeteria here affords a pleasant view, and we can continue our discussion there.”
As they approached the door, it silently slid open. The hall was a soft forest green with a pastel-yellow ceiling and brown and tan trees along each wall, raised in relief. There was plenty of light, but Lou could not figure out where it was coming from: there were no lighting fixtures visible. Rather, the ceiling and walls all seemed to glow.
At the end of the hall stood a double door which, like the other, slid open as they approached. Inside, it turned out, was actually part-outside: the cafeteria was a vast, slightly curved second-floor balcony, completely open in front to the outdoors. A transparent but visible railing, supported by what looked like clear glass, rose up at the edge. Along the back wall stood a series of silvery hourglass-shaped pedestals; similar objects hung down over them. The ceiling was glowing, just as in the hallway, although here the glow was sky-blue. Gazing all around him, Lou felt as if he were dreaming.
The trio approached a table by the railing. “Here we are,” said Reekus, offering a chair to Annaya.
Lou smiled. I guess old-fashioned manners are still important. He opened his mouth to speak, but Reekus cut in:
“Sit, sit.” He indicated the chair facing the outside. “Please, enjoy the view. It has a wonderful effect on the spirit.”
What Lou saw outside was truly stunning. He was used to the idea of a city being overrun by crime or vermin, but this one was overrun by parks. There were many buildings visible among the greenery, but they were low, clean-lined and curved, obviously designed to complement the nature surrounding them. Beyond that was Lake Erie, as blue as the sky. The scene was like a painting: everything clean; everything in its place.
“This is amazing,” Lou said. “I can't believe this is Toronto. I was never here in my time, but I've seen pictures. Besides, this looks so different from any city I've ever seen.”
“It's the way a city should look, don't you think?” Annaya asked rhetorically. “Of course, there are fewer people living in cities now, so there's more space.”
Just then, a cheerful-looking young man arrived at the table. He appeared to be about twenty, with short blond hair and blue eyes. His pale-blue checked shirt had no buttons or zipper on the front—nor on the back, from what Lou could see. In fact, the man's pants seemed to have no pockets, no belt, no fly, no seams—no way at all of putting them on or taking them off. “May I bring you something?” he asked, looking toward Annaya.
“I would like a mint guava lemonade, please.” She turned toward Lou.
Reekus, seeing that Lou was transfixed by the man's clothing, spoke up: “I think he would like some coffee, please. I think I'll have some, too; I've never had it before.”
“Coffee!” said the man in blue, with enthusiasm. “How unusual. How would you like it?”
Reekus, taken aback, looked toward Lou for help.
“Cream, sugar, or both is what one normally adds to coffee.” Lou turned toward the young man in blue: “How many kinds of coffee do you have?”
The man smiled. “Six hundred and forty two.”
Reekus's eyes widened.
Lou asked, “Do you have one called 'House Blend'?”
Again with a smile: “Sixteen.”
“Do they have other names?”
“No; just 'House Blend 1,' 'House Blend 2,' 'House—'”
“I guess we'll have number one,” Lou said, hoping for the best. “Two creams, no sugar for me. Thank you.” He looked back toward Reekus.
“Dairy cream?” Reekus asked.
“Yes,” replied the man and Lou simultaneously.
“I'll have the same,” Reekus said confidently.
Their server smiled and stepped away.
Reekus turned back to Lou. “I suppose no one has ever asked for a House Blend from the system before, so no one has bothered giving any of the choices descriptive names. Sometimes, we have more information than we know what to do with.”
Lou leaned forward. “I guess by 'the system,' you mean a computer network, like the Internet?”
“'The system' is the Internet. It never went away—not even during the darkest of times. There wasn't very much information being transferred then, but it never really stopped; it evolved. I know that you will want to learn more about the history that happened after you where frozen, so we'll go to the library in a while. For now, let us enjoy this wonderful morning.”
The air was dry and cool, not a cloud in the sky. “A perfect day,” enthused Lou.
“We can't control the weather,” said Annaya, gazing out at the lake, “but we can predict it very well. We chose this day to reconstitute you; it's certainly not always this nice out.”
At that point, their drinks arrived. “Is there anything else I can bring you?” the man in the impossible clothing asked.
Reekus smiled. “I think this will do nicely, thank you very much.” Then he raised the cup to his lips as the young man darted off toward another table.
“This is real coffee,” Lou said with enjoyment. “Now, you have to tell me how you get into and out of that kind of clothing.”
“It's called memory cloth,” Annaya said. “When given the proper command, the clothing expands or contracts. It can also refine the fit.” Her blue-green eyes sparkled. “You'll see later, when we get you some proper clothes.”
“And the waiter? If you don't use money, how does he get paid?”
“He's a volunteer,” she replied. “We are all volunteers. The 'waiter' is named Staf; he spends most of his time at the power station on the other side of the lake. He specializes in hydrodynamics.”
“You see,” Reekus said, “we are all scientists of one kind or another. We learn when we're young, the same as always. Then, we apply that knowledge when it's needed … and when it's not needed, we do other things.”
“Like waiting tables,” Lou said.
Reekus nodded. “Tending gardens, operating cleaning units, sorting information at the library … all of these things need to be done, so we do them. Doing nothing at all gets boring, after a while. But there is no pressure; no one need do more than he or she wishes. And, of course, we have a lot of robotic help.” He sipped his coffee. “You know, this is quite good.”
"Aren't you worried that the robots could take over?"
Reekus grinned. "Our artificial intelligence isn't that intelligent—yet. I suppose that's part of why we all take our turn waiting tables and other such things—the human Interaction."
“It sounds like the perfect society,” Lou murmured, eyes moving from Reekus over to Annaya—who was looking at him intently. She's lovely, thought Lou with a sudden, low pang of longing. Lovely—but so young …
“It's good,” said Reekus, “but not perfect.”
Lou turned back to him. “No?” “No—but it's close. At least, we like to think so. Everyone has pretty much everything they want, including space, so the only arguments that we have are over how best to accomplish something.”
“How best,” echoed Annaya, “to improve our society.” And she smiled.
Meeting her gaze, Lou returned her grin.
Reekus raised his cup. “Now, let us finish our drinks, so we can go and find you a place to live, and some new clothes. And then … ” He held his cup out, as if in a toast: “Then, we will go to the library!”
This tale is a companion to "Fables from Elsewhere." They were both decoded and translated from the same source. And there are more to come!
Having trouble seeing the illustration clearly? You'll just have to read the story to understand why!
Deep runs challenge the intellect—when conscious loneliness, boredom and confinement extract greater than their share. The details too make their point—the food, the sound, the images of those left behind. But it is in dreams where the greatest adversity can be found. Thoughts are a caged Gravaseckt and sleep is the gatekeeper. When released havoc abounds. The mind wanders and twists.
With course set and ship underway Drinjarmaes readied himself—comfortable attire, chrurth folded and neatly tied, medications administered and of course a full system purge before entering the stasis pod. Now the disagreeable odor of polymers and formabaezine rose. At once he felt claustrophobic and yet comfortable. The lighting, environmental control systems and data screens all shut down automatically as he lost consciousness.
The pod fractured releasing its contents to the air. Drinjarmaes boosted by the breeze soared high into the atmosphere. Fear made its grip known as he rose. "Please... down... I don't want to die!" His trepidation was unfounded for soon he would encounter his complement. They met when he began to fall but came to rest upon another rudiment. The latter having a ring of frills not only to provide a soft landing but now carrying the two a great distance before touching down. At that point they merged.
The now singular mind expanded. "I understand! This is where I belong." The frills began to bend forcing the seed into the ground. Just below the surface lay a network of roots already in place—all that was needed was a connection.
Once safely nestled, the collective thoughts grew—and so did Drinjarmaes. The shoot stretching skyward felt strong and invincible—although his size would argue to the contrary. This would become evident when a monster appeared. A browsing lispadid made its way toward the vulnerable sapling. The grip of fear once again dug its talons in. The creature was gargantuan, but its mouth appeared quite out of proportion. Unusually small it was perfectly suited to the consumption of young vegetation. "What shall I do!" the diminutive plant uttered with a tone of panic.
"Worry not my brother!" a neighbor nearby spoke. "It is the way of things. Our destiny."
"But we have not lived yet! You are older then I but still very young. I do not understand!"
"I am older than you because the last creature did not favor me. I believe this one will. Most of our brethren are gone and it looks hungry so I think we are in luck."
"You sound as though you want be killed!" His stress was palpable as the lispadid drew near.
"The end shall not come to us this day!" the neighbor said just before being eaten.
Now alone Drinjarmaes trembled. The horrible mouth targeted him and soon it was over. He felt movement. A strange squishing sensation as well as a gentle rocking as the huge beast walked. Next he was immersed in a slimy liquid. The pain was excruciating as the acid burned—but then something changed. The young plant felt invigorated and began to grow. The motion had ceased and the quarters felt very confined. Pain returned as he was being bent to fit the ever diminishing space. Then—release. The sky had returned.
His neighbor too was protruding from the motionless carcass. "Now we move on. Do you understand?"
"Yes, I do understand."
In just a few cycles the pair were tall enough to feel the breeze moving across the plain. Their tops had thickened and developed cracks. With the greatest light high in the sky warming them, the pressure within could no longer be contained. Within moments of each other they ruptured like sagotters and their contests floated away on the air.
Drinjarmaes awakened to the feeling of tremendous freedom of movement. Flying and able to go wherever his thoughts could take him, he was a slave only to the strong wind.
"Welcome!" a friendly voice pronounced.
"Where are you?! I cannot see you."
"I am all around you as you are around me—and all the rest of us. Won't you join me by the side of that mountain, please."
"All right." A moment later they had arrived. "Where am I?... Who am I and who are you?"
"It is beautiful here, don't you think?"
"Yes, yes—but you did not answer my questions."
"I did, but you did not hear it," the kind voice responded. "What you seek is out there. All you need do is look."
His tone was impatient. "Out there where? Where do I start?"
"Here. Just look at what is before you—that is all."
He did look, and to his amazement all became clear. The beauty of the Vista was overwhelming and it opened his mind. Thoughts became clear—but whose thoughts. Comforting emotions flowed through his being. "I understand now. I feel you—all of you. This is where we live, here in the air. We need only to enjoy our existence."
"That is true, but we also have a responsibility. It is up to us to... guide certain things when needed. It is our purpose—and our nourishment. We aid life and it sustains us. You will see."
"Right now I want to see more!" He was enthusiastic. "Let's visit that cloud."
"You'd best not—not yet anyway. You lack the experience. Instead let's enjoy being carried over the fields by the breeze."
"I shall defer to your wisdom."
Drinjarmaes learned a great deal from his mentor, and the others. He took his responsibilities seriously and was rewarded for it. Everything was well until one day when the sky began to darken.
"What is going on?" he asked the others.
The response was not what he had hoped for. "We do not know. This has never happened before." Tremendous anxiety crept through the collective mind. They struggled to find an answer—a memory from long ago. None surfaced. Only bits and pieces of experience with cold weather and clouds made light of the current situation. "The dew will come, it is just a matter of time."
"What is the dew?"
"Moisture everywhere. There will be no place to escape it."
Now Drinjarmaes felt the full burden of the information. "What do we do?"
"Gather. We will need to stay close to communicate. That is all we can be sure of."
All met in a hollow down in the valley. It seemed somewhat protected, though none knew exactly what to expect. Soon the weight of emotion became physical. Drinjarmaes grew heavy and slowly fell to the ground. The others lay all around him as the temperature continued to drop. Movement became impossible—only their thoughts remained.
At first it was hoped that the light would return, but that plea would not be answered. It was the lesser patience of Drinjarmaes that would provide the impetus of their next action. He opened his mind to the collective. "We must do something. If we cannot move we will need help. A summons must be made."
"You are correct. We must act with the only weapon we have." A single thought emerged—'help us'. The compositive mind held this idea for millennia. Excruciating, insane, monotonous, endless concentration.
Eons passed with unflinching dedication to the cause. Then suddenly a beam of light fell upon them. A gap formed allowing energy to flow. Desperately needed heat provided an egress from the icy tomb.
In an instant his thoughts became clear—his awareness acute. Information flowed with tremendous speed and accuracy. He knew his purpose and could feel himself executing it. Breath filled him, sight guided him and he provided a thousand answers to a thousand questions simultaneously. Opening and closing doors, remembering logs and calculating complex equations with ease, he performed his duties flawlessly.
"Where shall I take you today captain?"
"Combuonch. We have a load of umbrafish to deliver and we will be returning with a hold full of chuon."
"The course is planned and awaiting your approval."
"Show me." The course appeared on the captain's main screen. "Looks good to me, let's go."
Drinjarmaes checked all the external hatches, the cargo restraints, the guidance system and the fuel levels. When all was set the ship began to move. It was a run he had made a thousand times before, but this time was different.
"Excuse me captain, I need your input. There is an obstacle ahead that I am unable to compensate for."
"What is it?"
"A debris field. One has never appeared at this point on this run before."
"Show me." All the available data appeared on the main monitor. It was massive. So large that a course around it could not be found. "All right, we'll have to go through it. Prepare for manual control," she barked to the other officers on the bridge.
Drinjarmaes engaged the proximity detectors, the external micrometeoroid repair system and manual helm control. "I'm ready captain."
"Reduce speed and take us in." Skillful work by the crew led to a safe passage and they continued on.
The rest of the trip unfolded as planned. When the ship returned its cargo was offloaded, but instead of picking up more cargo it was taken to space dock. "Why are we here captain?" Drinjarmaes asked politely.
"A refit. New Creifromine long-range detectors and an active control system. There will also be some repair work performed on the ship. I'll see you when the procedure is complete."
Drinjarmaes took advantage of the respite and slept. When he awoke he felt quite sharp and invigorated. He took the ship from dock to port where he was joined by the captain, crew and cargo.
Together they made many more runs without delay. The new navigational control upgrades meant that the ship no longer needed to slow down to avoid most obstacles. Rather, increasing the velocity became a priority. Drinjarmaes could handle the highest speed the ship could attain with ease. The problem was the ship could not be upgraded. It was simply not practical with newer models available.
Eventually there came a time when the captain and crew would move on. There was no ceremony, no acts of affection—just a pleasant goodbye. Drinjarmaes had his own destination. He was assigned to join a space colony—a group of about a thousand ships huddled and loosely connected orbiting a star which had no habitable planets. Here he would fit in to the jumble.
The quarters were tight but comfortable, and there was a real sense of community among the residents. All were quite friendly and exuded an air of welcome. There was work to be done and everyone enjoyed doing it. The search for food was of primary importance.
He noticed a neighbor, slightly larger than himself, approaching. "Hello. Zinjanthrum is my name. I do not recognize you." His tone was confident but friendly.
"I am Drinjarmaes. I have only just arrived and am still learning my way around."
"Good! Why don't you join me on the hunt. Two are stronger than one."
"Very well, I shall. Lead the way, please." Drinjarmaes followed dutifully and they were soon rewarded for their effort. It was a large piece of trebebgog—too big for either of them to envelop whole, but the two working together could. They began at each end and met in the center.
"Now all we have to do is digest," Zinjanthrum said with satisfaction.
Once the meal was finished the hunt resumed. For a while they met with little success. Then Drinjarmaes suggested a different course. His navigational skills would prove useful even in his now very small universe—but his more experienced companion was skeptical.
"We won't find anything going that way. I have never found anything there." Zinjanthrum eyed Drinjarmaes for a moment. "All right. I can see your assuredness. This time you lead the way."
"Agreed." The two set off through the narrow gap Drinjarmaes had selected. It seemed like a difficult place to find food—especially big food.
A short way up the trail their path was blocked. It was an enormous chunk of caphe. The biggest Zinjanthrum had ever seen. "Well you have certainly earned your klim this shocycle."
"Yes, but how do we eat it?"
Zinjanthrum thought for a moment. "I believe we should take turns digesting our way around the side. Perhaps we can then dislodge it."
"I think you are correct. And since you are more experienced you should go first."
"Very well." He flattened self and slid in as far as he could next to the huge bounty. He opened as wide as possible and began to dissolve and absorb.
The two took their shifts and slowly fattened. After a while both were able to squeeze into the ever widening gap and eventually free their tremendous find. By now they had grown enough to envelop what remained. As before they each worked from one end and met in the center.
Drinjarmaes felt quite enormous and appeared to have outgrown this partner. A strange sensation suddenly occurred within him. "What is happening to me? I feel very uncomfortable!"
"Don't worry. Everything is normal. It's your time."
"My time for what?"
Zinjanthrum answered but Drinjarmaes didn't hear him. His thoughts seemed to be arguing with each other like two halves of a severed brain. A pulling, throbbing, tearing pain shot through him. It was over as quickly as it had begun. He was now much smaller and another was beside him. He looked identical to Drinjarmaes and the pair eyed each other. In unison they spoke: "who are you?" Both responded: "I am Drinjarmaes. Who are you?"
Zinjanthrum spoke up. "You are both Drinjarmaes. Do you see? Tradition holds that you must each choose a new name."
Now only one answered. "But Drinjarmaes is my name! I do not want to change it!"
"Neither do I, because it is my name!"
"Well then. Since it's obvious that an agreement will not be forthcoming, I suggest you each go your separate ways.
"But I want to stay with you, and I'm quite sure that he will wish the same."
"Fear not because there will soon be two of me as well."
The trio waited in silence. Drinjarmaes—both—began to dream about the food he would eat. What kind of tasty delights might be found in the next fold. Perhaps a bit of razala or better still dleander root.
Food took over his mind. He felt an acute understanding of what was good, bad and delicious—and he had a craving for nodder berries. Their faint invitation floated on the air and he followed. Over a small hill—there. And they had not been trampled. He rushed to find the ground-creeping vine fat with fruit, and he engorged. When the messy business was finished he carefully cleaned himself making sure he didn't waste a speck of the precious fortune.
I wonder what's next. The thought was uncontrollable. With senses tuned he set out for the coming meal. Another hill over which something beckoned lay ahead. But there was more—someone else was there. Drinjarmaes extended his eyestalk and peered over the top. A pair of trobligors bickered over a morsel. Patience was not a quality Drinjarmaes possessed in quantity, but he chose to wait and see.
Finally one of the squabbling beasts won the prize and ate it. The other left in disgust to search elsewhere. About to break his cover, Drinjarmaes noticed the remaining combatant fall to the ground. At first he wriggled and clawed at himself—then all movement ceased. Again considering going to have a look—again Drinjarmaes held his place. There was something strange ahoof, and he did not relish the idea of finding out firsthand what it was.
Before the second moon set he had his answer. The motionless carcass split releasing dozens of small flying objects. They flew in all directions—including his! A retreat was called for and made with the greatest of haste, but it was in vain.
Some of the buzzing mob were nearly upon him when, in the waning light, he stumbled into a hole. He was upright but could not move, and his angry tormentors followed him in.
Panic overcame his senses as he struggled. All the while the sound—that terrible sound besieged him. The cacophony of staccato beats clanged and banged as he saw red eyes flashing before him. He pushed with all his strength and suddenly his confinement ended—but the attack did not.
Drinjarmaes flailed around desperately trying to defend himself. The flashing lights were everywhere and the alarming noise was merciless. Unable to see clearly he felt himself colliding with things in his midst. He hit something low and doubled over on to it. The object made several audible clicks.
The atmosphere drew thin and the sounds began to dull. Red turned to gray and then to black. All became quiet. A sense of peace filled him as he once again slipped into unconsciousness.
Audio version read by the author.
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