| GodSeed is available through Publish America or through this website. It is a 6x9 softcover, 290 pages. $18.95 through Publish America, or a personally autograpghed copy from me for $15.99 plus $2.00 S&H. |
| Idle Hands Publishing Official Website of JE Gurley |
Father Blood
is available through
Lulu.com or through this
website. It comes as a PDF
download for $3.75 or a 6x9
softcover, 201 pages, for
$12.95. You can obtain a
personally autographed
copy from me for $10.95
plus $2.00 S/H.
is available through
Lulu.com or through this
website. It comes as a PDF
download for $3.75 or a 6x9
softcover, 201 pages, for
$12.95. You can obtain a
personally autographed
copy from me for $10.95
plus $2.00 S/H.
| Biography I was born in Corinth, Ms. 2-19-1954. I was raised in the country. My backyard was a civil war battlefield filled with mini balls, bayonets and belt buckles. I grew up around the Tennessee River and Shiloh National Park and Battlefield. History was a large part of my life and still plays a role in my writing. I've done many things in m y life - laboratory technician, phlebotomist, musician, oil field worker, dredge barge worker, Loss and Damage clerk for a truck line, blaster for a dredging barge on the Tenn-Tom Waterway, door maker, dairy worker, Sears store installer, horticulturist, chef and writer. In all of these I've observed people and how they react. They are the characters in my books. Many people have helped and encouraged me to write and many more have helped by buying and reading my books. I write to please myself, hoping I will please others. I hope I can continue to count on your support. I will continue to write. JE Gurley |
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The Mark of Caine
By
JE Gurley
The end came quickly for the others, but not Tolliver Caine. After two days of agonizing torture, they
were all dragged into the village circle. Two men, they beheaded, followed by shouts of joy from the
onlookers as the bloody, severed heads were tossed about like balls. The crowd was less tolerant of the
last two men. They had drawn Clan blood. Their deaths were slow and painful. Stripped naked and
stretched between four stakes, a circle of hot coals was placed a round them. Then their bodies were
covered with tiny black scorpions. Their screams lasted for twenty minutes. The venom acted slowly but
was nonetheless fatal.
Caine watched the others die stoically; knowing worse was in store for him. He felt a little guilt at their
demise but they had known of the possible dangers and had still agreed to follow him. Such was the
capricious and spurious reward for poor choices.
Caine knew by their jubilation that his captors had something special planned for him. He did, after all,
bear the Mark and he was the leader of the small band of Junkers that had invaded their territory. The
People on the Edge of the World had no love for Junkers or for the Marked.
The leader of this White Hand Clan of the People, a tall, agitated man with a hawkish nose and one
ragged ear shredded in some long-forgotten battle, waved a feathered wand in Caine’s face and cackled
like an old woman. Caine knew the black raven feathers of the wand represented death. To the People on
the Edge, everything represented death. It was the sum of their existence, the reason for their being.
He could follow a few words of Low Speech the leader was spouting. Mostly it dealt with the ancient
gods of the sand and the wind and about the Clan’s good fortune. That they had not killed him quickly and
somewhat mercifully, like the others, certainly meant they intended to offer him to their heathen gods. A
man bearing the Mark was thought to have special powers, an honorable sacrifice in their eyes.
If he had any special powers, other than the proven ability to find trouble, Caine didn’t know about them.
As for as being Marked, that happened to one in ten thousand, like freckles or and a sixth finger. It meant
nothing to him but an occasional free drink in some wayside tavern.
The dark vertical lines of the birthmark on his left temple had not brought him any fame or fortune or he
would not have agreed to lead this unlucky band of Junkers into the wastes after ancient artifacts and
other Mech loot.
For their troubles and ultimately, their lives, they had managed to find one small cache of rusty metal
plates and two half-spent fuel cells, all of which the People on the Edge had dutifully reburied after
capturing them.
To the People, the ruins were sacred, the homes of the spirits of the ancient dead and looting them was
taboo. Caine would appease their gods.
After half an hour of ceremonial drum beating and enthusiastic dancing, they untied his hands and led
him to the cliff side of the village. A series of narrow steps chiseled into the native rock face descended the
2000 meters or so to the sands below. They looked as ancient as the land itself. Certainly, the People had
not carved them. They had no desire to venture into the Deep Desert.
If the ancient ruins were taboo, the Deep Desert was inviolable. There, the old gods still held sway, still
fighting their centuries-old war. At least, that’s to what they attributed the sudden, vicious storms that
erupted from the Deep Desert and fell upon the Wastes with the fury of hammer on anvil.
The leader of the White Hand Clan thrust a small water skin into one of Caine’s hands and a stone knife
into the other and said, “Go,” probably the only word he knew in High Speech.
Caine rubbed his chaffed wrists to get the circulation going. Although they had not beaten him like the
others, they had tied and gagged him for a day and a half. It had left his hands throbbing and numb. It was
difficult to hold onto the knife. He thrust it awkwardly into his belt and slung the water skin over his
shoulder. Arguing seemed, at best, futile, and Caine was never one to beg for death, quick or otherwise.
While he was alive, there was always hope. At least he had always thought so. He accepted the meager
offerings and smiled at the leader before slowly descending the steps. The crowd suddenly quieted and,
as if he was only a distant memory, turned and left as soon as he started down. To their minds, it would be
unthinkable for anyone to try to return.
Without a horse and with one small skin of water, the fifteen-day journey to Tegal, the capital of Nodd,
was out of the question. He had crossed that accursed country already and knew no hope lay in that
direction. At this latitude, the Wastes ran east to west from the Knife Edge Mountains to the Crimson Sea
and it was over 300 kilometers to the sea.
That left the Deep Desert. Even the People, perched on the high cliff at the Edge of the World didn’t
venture into the Deep Desert or the Soul Eater, as they called it. Not in over a thousand years had anyone
walked out of the Soul Eater alive.
If he had thought the stifling heat of the Wastes was almost unendurable, on the shimmering sands of
the Soul Eater, the heat rose up like a sheet of invisible flame and sucked the moisture from his body like a
greedy leech. Even through the soles of his leather boots, the heat felt as if he was walking on hot coals.
He pulled off his inner shirt and wrapped it around his head, letting it trail down over the back of his neck.
Thankfully, his outer tunic was made from drazen wool. The lightweight weave allowed the evaporation
of his body moisture to cool his body. Unfortunately, this same method of cooling would be his death.
Caine, a man used to hardships, checked his pockets for anything useful. The White Hand Clan had
ransacked his pack and had made off with most of his possessions. He still had, besides the water skin
and stone knife, a compass, a fire stick, half a bag of dried meat and his lucky silver coin, a rare find in an
ancient, crumbling ruin, dated even before the Dark Years. This he took out and tossed in the air, catching
it on the back of his hand and covering it with the palm of the other.
“All-Seeing Eye, I go straight ahead; Crossed Swords, I try and find another way up.” He looked back
up at the formidable challenge of the Edge of the World towering over him.
He lifted his hand, glanced at the coin and smiled. “Straight ahead it is then. I’ve always wondered what
might be out there,” he said cheerfully.
He shaded his eyes and looked at the sun, a massive ball of red fury glaring at him like an evil eye. It
would be up for at least another two hours, blotting out a third of the horizon. Walking in its fiery shadow
would be impossible. No shelter of any kind appeared to be nearby. Using the stone knife, he dug a deep
pit in the sand. He sat down in it and pulled off his outer tunic, placing it like an umbrella over his little
shelter. The heat was still oppressive but at least twenty degrees cooler than on the surface.
In this manner, he waited until sundown.
Rumors and legends abounded about what might lie beyond the Edge of the World, deep in the heart of
the Deep Desert.
One legend said the Gates of Hades lay there like a giant serpent, awaiting its next victim. Caine
discounted this one readily. Most people he knew were all too eager to find Hades for it to have to lie in
wait for them.
A second legend spoke of the Silver City where life began, the Garden of Eden. He thought this one
most likely, for it told of man’s expulsion from Eden for seeking too much wisdom. Certainly, man had
been expelled before finding it if the sorry state of the world was any example.
Walking at night was bearable but the heat still sapped Caine’s strength rapidly. He knew his meager
ration of water would last less than two days. The plain was featureless but for the unending ripples of
blown sand. The horizon was a knife cut on the edge of eternity. The longer he walked toward it, the
further in the distance it seemed to recede.
The dawn of the second day, he found his first sign of ancient life, a ruin, or least what might have once
been a ruin. Weathered and scoured by the relentless desert winds, it bore little resemblance to a thing
man made. It was actually no more than a jumbled pile of stone. At least there was sufficient room amid the
debris to provide respite from the sun.
As the sun marched across the sky in its pursuit of all living things, a certain trick of the light revealed to
Caine markings, writing of sorts, on the stones. Most were illegible or of an unknown tongue. One word
‘Vada’ he knew to be similar to the High Speech word for Eden. It was enough to start the gears of his
mind turning. Now, his death march might have, at least, purpose – a quest for Eden.
Nightfall brought an unusual stillness to the desert. No wind rippled the surface. No clouds marred the
pink sky. Near the zenith of the night sky, where the red sun’s reflected shimmer above the horizon didn’t
wash out the stars, Caine could see the Traveler’s Cross, a good omen. Other lights twinkled and moved
quickly across the sky, Satellites.
Satellites, he remembered from childhood, were the homes of the Great Teachers who had guided man
through the Dark Years when the sun turned red. Most thought the Great Teachers had fled back to
whatever depths of space they had originated.
He could use their guidance now.
As he walked, he came more and more frequently upon ruins from ancient times, stone blocks, bricks
and metal spars. It soon dawned upon his heat-exhausted mind that each ruin was less devastated than
the previous one, as if he were marching forward in time. The last ruin’s metal bits were still shiny and the
stones polished. Even the land seemed less burned and dead as he walked forward. He was at first
startled, then awed, when he came upon his first tree, long dead and leafless, but standing nevertheless,
reaching its dead branches into the sky like a man praying to the High Ones.
Trees were things found only in the mountain valleys to the far south, carefully tended by Foresters and
Agronomists. He had seen one once in the court of the Emperor in Merced. What would a tree, even the
skeleton of one be doing in the Deep Desert?
Just before dawn, Caine found his first living thing. Near a low wall running across his path like a barrier,
he saw a lizard, small and fragile but definitely living, scurrying into a small hole to avoid the coming
sunrise. He saw a dozen such holes. If there were lizards, he reasoned, there must be resources to sustain
them.
Searching the area, he found a small pool of stagnant water that appeared to drip from a metal pipe
protruding through the sand. A small patch of lichen grew there – an oasis in these parts. He fell on his
knees and drank his fill of the water. It was brackish but he ignored the taste, savoring the moisture as it
ran down his parched throat.
In that moment before the sun first peeks over the horizon, when the light shines upward from the edge
of the horizon, Caine saw a great silver glow ahead of him. It was visible only for the briefest instant before
the glare of the sun smothered it, but he knew it was there.
The Silver City. Eden.
Could the legend be right? He wrung the last drops of water from his water skin and plodded forward,
determined to see this sight before his death.
The land changed. Sprigs of grass thrust through the cracked soil. Small shrubs with tough, leathery
leaves stubbornly clung to rocky patches in the shade of stone walls. He passed several intact buildings,
some looking as though abandoned only days or weeks earlier. He searched through these but found
nothing useful.
The sloping flanks of the Silver City, Eden, loomed before him, drawing him like a magnet. As the City
grew closer, Caine noticed a change in the air around him, a buildup of static electricity. His hair was
standing erect. Tiny sparks leaped from his boots to the soil. He pulled out his compass and saw the tiny
needle spinning madly, as if seeking the source of the disruption. Suddenly, a great invisible hand
knocked him to the ground, as if a wind he could not feel had swept past. He looked behind and saw a wall
of sand building, swirling and towering higher and higher into the sky. Great arcs of electricity shot though
it. It looked as if the gods were battling, just as the legends told.
He turned his gaze toward Eden. It appeared further away at first; then he realized the silver dome was
smaller. He could see the marks in the earth where the edge of the city once stood. It had moved half a
league. He turned and saw a series of such marks behind him, marching off into the distance. He had
stumbled over them thinking them merely low ridges. Eden was growing smaller, had been doing so for a
long time.
Near the former edge of the city, he found grass and small pools of water, already drying up in the harsh
sun. He saw something sparkling and reached down to pick it up. It was a coin, similar to the one in his
pocket but shiny and new. He knew his own coin was an ancient relic found on an earlier Junker
expedition. This one looked as if it had just been minted. He put the coin in his pocket for good luck.
He marched on without rest until the edge of Eden was but a hand’s width away. He could feel the
energy of the city in the air around it. He reached out to touch it but felt nothing. His hand slowed gradually
until it stopped as though the air itself was pushing back. He tried pushing harder but the results were the
same. Growing desperate, he picked up a large rock and threw it with all his might. The rock struck the wall
and rolled down its side harmlessly.
He decided he would have to walk around the city until he found a way inside.
Two hours later, he came upon a man dying in the sun. The man looked like a Northerner with dark hair
and blue eyes but his features were much too pale to have endured much sun. He was also marked. The
dark lines stamped on his forehead resembled Caine’s own birthmark.
“Who are you, old man?” he asked. “How do I get inside?” Looking at the man’s desperate condition, he
asked. “Were you cast out of Eden, like Adam?”
The man looked at Caine, saw that he was Marked, and smiled. “You’ve returned,” he said.
Caine could understand the man’s words though the accent was rough. It was an ancient dialect of High
Speech.
“Returned? I’ve never been here before, old man. Is this Eden?”
“Eden? Oh, I see. No, not Eden. Nevada Dome.”
“Ne … Vada? That is Eden. How long have you been here?”
“Two days. Did you feel the last contraction?”
“Contraction?”
“Yes, the last time dilation. The stas … the stasis field is slowly growing weaker. The dome is shrinking.”
He lifted himself and drew Caine closer. “By my calculations, the field will disappear in less than ten years.”
Caine understood noting of the old man’s fever induced ravings. “What then?”
The old man laughed. “Then the last city on earth will awaken.”
“Awaken. What does that mean?”
“Tens of thousands of years ago, the sun went red, wiping out most life on earth. A few domes
remained. Over time, their stasis fields failed. Now, Nevada Dome is failing, too. The people will awaken
into this harsh world instead of the garden world we envisioned.” He laughed. “We could have built ships
and escaped but chose to remain, reclaim earth after the sun had settled down between pulses. The dome
is shrinking slowly, sloughing off parts of itself to conserve energy. The Tech Center went centuries ago. I
know. I looked at the logs.”
The old man went into a fit of coughing. “Ten thousand men and women, frozen in time. A few like, me,
come out of stasis from time to time to maintain the city. I was caught near the edge during a shield
contraction. Can’t get in until the field fails. Guess I’ll die here.” He looked up at Caine. “What year is this,
anyway?”
“The tenth year in the rule of Emperor Trask, 2007 years after the end of the Dark Years,” Caine recited.
The old man chuckled. “Been asleep a long time. Guess I’ll sleep some more.” He closed his eyes.
Caine shook him. “What did you mean ‘returned’, old man?” He pointed to the Mark on his left temple.
“What does this mean?”
“Every citizen has a Mark of Registry, to keep track of them and to access city services. From time to
time, historians went out of the dome to gather information, knowing they could not re-enter, but they
relayed the information to the dome’s computers through the satellite network. A great sacrifice on their
part. You are a descendant of one of these historians. When the stasis field fails, the city will recognize
you, because of the sacrifice of your kin.”
“Recognize me?”
“Respond to your wishes… answer your requests. You must help the others.”
“Why should I? I’ll die here too, old man.”
“No, I suspected the dome was shrinking. I placed food stores near the edge. They should come
through very soon, within a day or so. I placed them too far away for me. Not as smart as I thought,” he
chuckled. His chuckle became a cough. He reached out a hand and touched Caine’s mark with a finger.
“You’re one of us. Help them.”
“Who are you, old man?” he asked as the old man slumped into his arms.
“Able,” he whispered with his dying breathe.
Caine knew that he was dead but his blue eyes stared into Caine’s like an unspoken accusation.
He buried the old man near the edge of the Silver City – Nevada, the old man had called it but he was
certain it must be Eden.
“I didn’t know you, Abel, but I hope you reach the gods,” he said over the grave. “You might have been
my brother or even my father for all I know.”
He went back to the low wall and watched the lizards scampering along the stones. He refilled his water
skin from the stagnant pool, thankful that it was slowly replenishing itself.
“It’ll do,” he said as he sat down to wait for the food supplies the old man
had promised. If they appeared, they should see him back to the Edge of the World. He still had to get by
the White Hand Clan but a man walking unharmed out of the heart of the Soul Eater should have some
mojo working for him, especially a Marked man. They wouldn’t bother him this time.
Ten years. He supposed he could survive on his wits until then. Then he would make his way back to
the Edge of the World and greet his brothers as they stumbled out of their long sleep. It was a strange
world out there and they might need a helping hand, these men from Eden.
<The end>
By
JE Gurley
The end came quickly for the others, but not Tolliver Caine. After two days of agonizing torture, they
were all dragged into the village circle. Two men, they beheaded, followed by shouts of joy from the
onlookers as the bloody, severed heads were tossed about like balls. The crowd was less tolerant of the
last two men. They had drawn Clan blood. Their deaths were slow and painful. Stripped naked and
stretched between four stakes, a circle of hot coals was placed a round them. Then their bodies were
covered with tiny black scorpions. Their screams lasted for twenty minutes. The venom acted slowly but
was nonetheless fatal.
Caine watched the others die stoically; knowing worse was in store for him. He felt a little guilt at their
demise but they had known of the possible dangers and had still agreed to follow him. Such was the
capricious and spurious reward for poor choices.
Caine knew by their jubilation that his captors had something special planned for him. He did, after all,
bear the Mark and he was the leader of the small band of Junkers that had invaded their territory. The
People on the Edge of the World had no love for Junkers or for the Marked.
The leader of this White Hand Clan of the People, a tall, agitated man with a hawkish nose and one
ragged ear shredded in some long-forgotten battle, waved a feathered wand in Caine’s face and cackled
like an old woman. Caine knew the black raven feathers of the wand represented death. To the People on
the Edge, everything represented death. It was the sum of their existence, the reason for their being.
He could follow a few words of Low Speech the leader was spouting. Mostly it dealt with the ancient
gods of the sand and the wind and about the Clan’s good fortune. That they had not killed him quickly and
somewhat mercifully, like the others, certainly meant they intended to offer him to their heathen gods. A
man bearing the Mark was thought to have special powers, an honorable sacrifice in their eyes.
If he had any special powers, other than the proven ability to find trouble, Caine didn’t know about them.
As for as being Marked, that happened to one in ten thousand, like freckles or and a sixth finger. It meant
nothing to him but an occasional free drink in some wayside tavern.
The dark vertical lines of the birthmark on his left temple had not brought him any fame or fortune or he
would not have agreed to lead this unlucky band of Junkers into the wastes after ancient artifacts and
other Mech loot.
For their troubles and ultimately, their lives, they had managed to find one small cache of rusty metal
plates and two half-spent fuel cells, all of which the People on the Edge had dutifully reburied after
capturing them.
To the People, the ruins were sacred, the homes of the spirits of the ancient dead and looting them was
taboo. Caine would appease their gods.
After half an hour of ceremonial drum beating and enthusiastic dancing, they untied his hands and led
him to the cliff side of the village. A series of narrow steps chiseled into the native rock face descended the
2000 meters or so to the sands below. They looked as ancient as the land itself. Certainly, the People had
not carved them. They had no desire to venture into the Deep Desert.
If the ancient ruins were taboo, the Deep Desert was inviolable. There, the old gods still held sway, still
fighting their centuries-old war. At least, that’s to what they attributed the sudden, vicious storms that
erupted from the Deep Desert and fell upon the Wastes with the fury of hammer on anvil.
The leader of the White Hand Clan thrust a small water skin into one of Caine’s hands and a stone knife
into the other and said, “Go,” probably the only word he knew in High Speech.
Caine rubbed his chaffed wrists to get the circulation going. Although they had not beaten him like the
others, they had tied and gagged him for a day and a half. It had left his hands throbbing and numb. It was
difficult to hold onto the knife. He thrust it awkwardly into his belt and slung the water skin over his
shoulder. Arguing seemed, at best, futile, and Caine was never one to beg for death, quick or otherwise.
While he was alive, there was always hope. At least he had always thought so. He accepted the meager
offerings and smiled at the leader before slowly descending the steps. The crowd suddenly quieted and,
as if he was only a distant memory, turned and left as soon as he started down. To their minds, it would be
unthinkable for anyone to try to return.
Without a horse and with one small skin of water, the fifteen-day journey to Tegal, the capital of Nodd,
was out of the question. He had crossed that accursed country already and knew no hope lay in that
direction. At this latitude, the Wastes ran east to west from the Knife Edge Mountains to the Crimson Sea
and it was over 300 kilometers to the sea.
That left the Deep Desert. Even the People, perched on the high cliff at the Edge of the World didn’t
venture into the Deep Desert or the Soul Eater, as they called it. Not in over a thousand years had anyone
walked out of the Soul Eater alive.
If he had thought the stifling heat of the Wastes was almost unendurable, on the shimmering sands of
the Soul Eater, the heat rose up like a sheet of invisible flame and sucked the moisture from his body like a
greedy leech. Even through the soles of his leather boots, the heat felt as if he was walking on hot coals.
He pulled off his inner shirt and wrapped it around his head, letting it trail down over the back of his neck.
Thankfully, his outer tunic was made from drazen wool. The lightweight weave allowed the evaporation
of his body moisture to cool his body. Unfortunately, this same method of cooling would be his death.
Caine, a man used to hardships, checked his pockets for anything useful. The White Hand Clan had
ransacked his pack and had made off with most of his possessions. He still had, besides the water skin
and stone knife, a compass, a fire stick, half a bag of dried meat and his lucky silver coin, a rare find in an
ancient, crumbling ruin, dated even before the Dark Years. This he took out and tossed in the air, catching
it on the back of his hand and covering it with the palm of the other.
“All-Seeing Eye, I go straight ahead; Crossed Swords, I try and find another way up.” He looked back
up at the formidable challenge of the Edge of the World towering over him.
He lifted his hand, glanced at the coin and smiled. “Straight ahead it is then. I’ve always wondered what
might be out there,” he said cheerfully.
He shaded his eyes and looked at the sun, a massive ball of red fury glaring at him like an evil eye. It
would be up for at least another two hours, blotting out a third of the horizon. Walking in its fiery shadow
would be impossible. No shelter of any kind appeared to be nearby. Using the stone knife, he dug a deep
pit in the sand. He sat down in it and pulled off his outer tunic, placing it like an umbrella over his little
shelter. The heat was still oppressive but at least twenty degrees cooler than on the surface.
In this manner, he waited until sundown.
Rumors and legends abounded about what might lie beyond the Edge of the World, deep in the heart of
the Deep Desert.
One legend said the Gates of Hades lay there like a giant serpent, awaiting its next victim. Caine
discounted this one readily. Most people he knew were all too eager to find Hades for it to have to lie in
wait for them.
A second legend spoke of the Silver City where life began, the Garden of Eden. He thought this one
most likely, for it told of man’s expulsion from Eden for seeking too much wisdom. Certainly, man had
been expelled before finding it if the sorry state of the world was any example.
Walking at night was bearable but the heat still sapped Caine’s strength rapidly. He knew his meager
ration of water would last less than two days. The plain was featureless but for the unending ripples of
blown sand. The horizon was a knife cut on the edge of eternity. The longer he walked toward it, the
further in the distance it seemed to recede.
The dawn of the second day, he found his first sign of ancient life, a ruin, or least what might have once
been a ruin. Weathered and scoured by the relentless desert winds, it bore little resemblance to a thing
man made. It was actually no more than a jumbled pile of stone. At least there was sufficient room amid the
debris to provide respite from the sun.
As the sun marched across the sky in its pursuit of all living things, a certain trick of the light revealed to
Caine markings, writing of sorts, on the stones. Most were illegible or of an unknown tongue. One word
‘Vada’ he knew to be similar to the High Speech word for Eden. It was enough to start the gears of his
mind turning. Now, his death march might have, at least, purpose – a quest for Eden.
Nightfall brought an unusual stillness to the desert. No wind rippled the surface. No clouds marred the
pink sky. Near the zenith of the night sky, where the red sun’s reflected shimmer above the horizon didn’t
wash out the stars, Caine could see the Traveler’s Cross, a good omen. Other lights twinkled and moved
quickly across the sky, Satellites.
Satellites, he remembered from childhood, were the homes of the Great Teachers who had guided man
through the Dark Years when the sun turned red. Most thought the Great Teachers had fled back to
whatever depths of space they had originated.
He could use their guidance now.
As he walked, he came more and more frequently upon ruins from ancient times, stone blocks, bricks
and metal spars. It soon dawned upon his heat-exhausted mind that each ruin was less devastated than
the previous one, as if he were marching forward in time. The last ruin’s metal bits were still shiny and the
stones polished. Even the land seemed less burned and dead as he walked forward. He was at first
startled, then awed, when he came upon his first tree, long dead and leafless, but standing nevertheless,
reaching its dead branches into the sky like a man praying to the High Ones.
Trees were things found only in the mountain valleys to the far south, carefully tended by Foresters and
Agronomists. He had seen one once in the court of the Emperor in Merced. What would a tree, even the
skeleton of one be doing in the Deep Desert?
Just before dawn, Caine found his first living thing. Near a low wall running across his path like a barrier,
he saw a lizard, small and fragile but definitely living, scurrying into a small hole to avoid the coming
sunrise. He saw a dozen such holes. If there were lizards, he reasoned, there must be resources to sustain
them.
Searching the area, he found a small pool of stagnant water that appeared to drip from a metal pipe
protruding through the sand. A small patch of lichen grew there – an oasis in these parts. He fell on his
knees and drank his fill of the water. It was brackish but he ignored the taste, savoring the moisture as it
ran down his parched throat.
In that moment before the sun first peeks over the horizon, when the light shines upward from the edge
of the horizon, Caine saw a great silver glow ahead of him. It was visible only for the briefest instant before
the glare of the sun smothered it, but he knew it was there.
The Silver City. Eden.
Could the legend be right? He wrung the last drops of water from his water skin and plodded forward,
determined to see this sight before his death.
The land changed. Sprigs of grass thrust through the cracked soil. Small shrubs with tough, leathery
leaves stubbornly clung to rocky patches in the shade of stone walls. He passed several intact buildings,
some looking as though abandoned only days or weeks earlier. He searched through these but found
nothing useful.
The sloping flanks of the Silver City, Eden, loomed before him, drawing him like a magnet. As the City
grew closer, Caine noticed a change in the air around him, a buildup of static electricity. His hair was
standing erect. Tiny sparks leaped from his boots to the soil. He pulled out his compass and saw the tiny
needle spinning madly, as if seeking the source of the disruption. Suddenly, a great invisible hand
knocked him to the ground, as if a wind he could not feel had swept past. He looked behind and saw a wall
of sand building, swirling and towering higher and higher into the sky. Great arcs of electricity shot though
it. It looked as if the gods were battling, just as the legends told.
He turned his gaze toward Eden. It appeared further away at first; then he realized the silver dome was
smaller. He could see the marks in the earth where the edge of the city once stood. It had moved half a
league. He turned and saw a series of such marks behind him, marching off into the distance. He had
stumbled over them thinking them merely low ridges. Eden was growing smaller, had been doing so for a
long time.
Near the former edge of the city, he found grass and small pools of water, already drying up in the harsh
sun. He saw something sparkling and reached down to pick it up. It was a coin, similar to the one in his
pocket but shiny and new. He knew his own coin was an ancient relic found on an earlier Junker
expedition. This one looked as if it had just been minted. He put the coin in his pocket for good luck.
He marched on without rest until the edge of Eden was but a hand’s width away. He could feel the
energy of the city in the air around it. He reached out to touch it but felt nothing. His hand slowed gradually
until it stopped as though the air itself was pushing back. He tried pushing harder but the results were the
same. Growing desperate, he picked up a large rock and threw it with all his might. The rock struck the wall
and rolled down its side harmlessly.
He decided he would have to walk around the city until he found a way inside.
Two hours later, he came upon a man dying in the sun. The man looked like a Northerner with dark hair
and blue eyes but his features were much too pale to have endured much sun. He was also marked. The
dark lines stamped on his forehead resembled Caine’s own birthmark.
“Who are you, old man?” he asked. “How do I get inside?” Looking at the man’s desperate condition, he
asked. “Were you cast out of Eden, like Adam?”
The man looked at Caine, saw that he was Marked, and smiled. “You’ve returned,” he said.
Caine could understand the man’s words though the accent was rough. It was an ancient dialect of High
Speech.
“Returned? I’ve never been here before, old man. Is this Eden?”
“Eden? Oh, I see. No, not Eden. Nevada Dome.”
“Ne … Vada? That is Eden. How long have you been here?”
“Two days. Did you feel the last contraction?”
“Contraction?”
“Yes, the last time dilation. The stas … the stasis field is slowly growing weaker. The dome is shrinking.”
He lifted himself and drew Caine closer. “By my calculations, the field will disappear in less than ten years.”
Caine understood noting of the old man’s fever induced ravings. “What then?”
The old man laughed. “Then the last city on earth will awaken.”
“Awaken. What does that mean?”
“Tens of thousands of years ago, the sun went red, wiping out most life on earth. A few domes
remained. Over time, their stasis fields failed. Now, Nevada Dome is failing, too. The people will awaken
into this harsh world instead of the garden world we envisioned.” He laughed. “We could have built ships
and escaped but chose to remain, reclaim earth after the sun had settled down between pulses. The dome
is shrinking slowly, sloughing off parts of itself to conserve energy. The Tech Center went centuries ago. I
know. I looked at the logs.”
The old man went into a fit of coughing. “Ten thousand men and women, frozen in time. A few like, me,
come out of stasis from time to time to maintain the city. I was caught near the edge during a shield
contraction. Can’t get in until the field fails. Guess I’ll die here.” He looked up at Caine. “What year is this,
anyway?”
“The tenth year in the rule of Emperor Trask, 2007 years after the end of the Dark Years,” Caine recited.
The old man chuckled. “Been asleep a long time. Guess I’ll sleep some more.” He closed his eyes.
Caine shook him. “What did you mean ‘returned’, old man?” He pointed to the Mark on his left temple.
“What does this mean?”
“Every citizen has a Mark of Registry, to keep track of them and to access city services. From time to
time, historians went out of the dome to gather information, knowing they could not re-enter, but they
relayed the information to the dome’s computers through the satellite network. A great sacrifice on their
part. You are a descendant of one of these historians. When the stasis field fails, the city will recognize
you, because of the sacrifice of your kin.”
“Recognize me?”
“Respond to your wishes… answer your requests. You must help the others.”
“Why should I? I’ll die here too, old man.”
“No, I suspected the dome was shrinking. I placed food stores near the edge. They should come
through very soon, within a day or so. I placed them too far away for me. Not as smart as I thought,” he
chuckled. His chuckle became a cough. He reached out a hand and touched Caine’s mark with a finger.
“You’re one of us. Help them.”
“Who are you, old man?” he asked as the old man slumped into his arms.
“Able,” he whispered with his dying breathe.
Caine knew that he was dead but his blue eyes stared into Caine’s like an unspoken accusation.
He buried the old man near the edge of the Silver City – Nevada, the old man had called it but he was
certain it must be Eden.
“I didn’t know you, Abel, but I hope you reach the gods,” he said over the grave. “You might have been
my brother or even my father for all I know.”
He went back to the low wall and watched the lizards scampering along the stones. He refilled his water
skin from the stagnant pool, thankful that it was slowly replenishing itself.
“It’ll do,” he said as he sat down to wait for the food supplies the old man
had promised. If they appeared, they should see him back to the Edge of the World. He still had to get by
the White Hand Clan but a man walking unharmed out of the heart of the Soul Eater should have some
mojo working for him, especially a Marked man. They wouldn’t bother him this time.
Ten years. He supposed he could survive on his wits until then. Then he would make his way back to
the Edge of the World and greet his brothers as they stumbled out of their long sleep. It was a strange
world out there and they might need a helping hand, these men from Eden.
<The end>
Darwin’s Children
By
JE Gurley
Josh Hammond watched the chincha for a
long while. He noticed the nimble manner in
which the small rodent gathered several acorns
in its front paws and awkwardly hopped to the
hollow beneath the massive oak. With busy tail
flicking in the air, it busily buried its prize in the
soft soil and scurried away for more. Lesser
creatures would have stuffed the nuts in their
mouth or gathered them one at a time. The
chinchas were learning. This much was obvious
even to him. In another hundred generations or
so, they would be walking on two legs and using
their dexterous paws to sharpen tools.
Such was the way of the world, this new
world, at least. The furry, little chinchas were not
the only creatures steadily climbing the
evolutionary ladder. Chimps were already
building permanent tree dwellings and planting
seeds. Apes, the few that remained, were
retreating to the highlands where they were
gathering beneath the full moon and singing, or
at least grunting, as the brilliant orb crested the
trees.
It was almost as if the planet, mother of so
many near-sentient species in its long,
convoluted history, was preparing the way for
man’s immediate replacement. It seemed as if
the very soil on which man trod knew he was on
his way out.
Josh Hammond unfolded his long legs and
stood. Sitting cross-legged for so long,
observing the antics of the chincha had put a
strain on his calf muscles. He rubbed them
briskly to get the circulation going and walked
down the gentle slope to his waiting horse.
Most men preferred the small, sure-footed
donkas, but Josh Hammond was not like most
men. Plodding along slowly was not his style.
He preferred the wind in his face. Josh grew up
closer to the soil than most. He had spent his
earlier years outside among the trees and
animals. He enjoyed the feel of warm horseflesh
beneath him, the gentle sway as Dancer carried
him effortlessly up and down the hills,
whinnying in its excitement to be out beneath
the endless sky and snorting in the fresh, non-
sterile air.
The soft buzz of his wrist comm broke
Dancer’s rhythm and he almost stumbled over a
hillock of tall grass. Josh angrily activated the
comm. He hated to be disturbed when away
from the office.
“What is it, Con?”
Con Agrew was Josh’s personal secretary.
His voice was recalcitrant, knowing he was
breaking a taboo. “Sorry, Josh! The Chairman
called and reminded me that you’re due to meet
with him later today.”
Damn! He had forgotten. “Thank’s, Con, I’ll
be ready.”
He rapped his boot against Dancer’s flanks.
He never wore spurs, would never hurt Dancer.
Dancer broke into a practiced gallop that ate the
kilometers quickly. As they topped a small rise,
he saw the fortress-like façade of the Enclave
below, almost completely surrounded by a small
stream.
The bridge was up. Was there trouble?’
As he drew closer, he saw Sid Adams with a
handful of armed guards. Adams, the Enclave’s
security officer, took his job seriously.
“What’s up, Adams?” he asked.
Adams took off his white cap and wiped it
across his neatly shaved baldhead before
placing it, brim askew, back on his head. “Looks
like a band of Migrants broke into a storage shed
and stole a bag of flour and a bag of sugar. We’
re going after them.” He unsnapped his holster.
“A bag of flour and a bag of sugar doesn’t
sound too bad. Let them have it.”
Adams shook his head. “If we let them get
away with it, every Migrant band around will try
it. They have to know the Enclave’s off limits to
their kind!”
Their kind! Twenty years ago, there were no
Migrants. As nature rebelled against man’s
attempts to control it, Enclave after Enclave fell.
This turned thousands of merchants and guild-
masters and programmers into Migrants,
wandering the land, working odd jobs or turning
to a hunter-gather existence. Ten thousand
years of civilization down the toilet.
Adams had his job; he had his. “Okay, but
don’t kill them if you can help it. There’s a ripe
orchard about a day’s march south. Herd them
that way.”
“They’ll just come back when they’ve eaten
it bare!” Adams was eager to put the fear of God
into the Migrants.
“Fire into the air. They’ll get the message.”
He kicked Dancer’s flanks and the horse shot
forward. “Do it!”
Adams looked crestfallen but agreed. Josh
hoped he kept his word. He felt sympathy for the
Migrants. They were just trying to survive.
Josh hoped his father was home. The elder
Hammond had left several days earlier to visit
one of the outlying smaller farms. He had been
hoping to convince the owner, Frederico
Saliende, to join with the Enclave, for safety
reasons. They had been friends for years.
Con was waiting for Josh as he handed the
reins of Dancer to one of the stable boys. True to
his well-groomed image as a personal secretary,
Con had his briefcase open and a sheaf of
papers ready for Josh’s signature.
“Is father home?” Josh asked.
“Haven’t seen him,” Con answered
distractedly, “But I’ve been on the phone all
morning.”
“Yes, I know, Con. I appreciate it.”
Con looked up and smiled. “It’s why you
hired me.”
“I just want to sit down and kick off my
boots.”
“Later! The Chairman will be on the vid in a
few minutes.”
“Oh, all right,” he groaned.
Con closed his briefcase and set it on a
small table. “You’re the son of the largest patron
in South America. You have responsibilities.”
Josh had heard the same speech many
times before, from Con, from his father, even
from the Chairman of the Western Alliance.
With the fall of the city structure after the
Tech War, people began to form communities
based on common needs and safety.
Technology had reached the point where man
was outdated. The tide began to turn and the
Romanticists urged the disdain of tech gadgetry.
The age of the Enclave was born where only
limited technology, an extension of man’s five
senses, flourished. The large cities, those that
remained after the War, now lay crumbling into
history. They had served their purpose. Man had
evolved past the tight-knit, face-to-face mode of
business.
Josh knew what Chairman Nico wanted.
The Western Alliance was almost ready to send
another ship to Mars. Josh was against it.
Mars had survived the War due to its
distance from earth. They had become self
sufficient, independent and wanted little to do
with the New Earth. Though from necessity they
had become the first true Enclave, they still
thought along the old lines. Computers, Josh
supposed, were necessary for space
exploration but he was afraid renewed contact
would contaminate both cultures.
Con handed him the vid. The face of
Chairman Nico, gray beard and hair, deep blue
eyes, looked out at Josh.
“Chairman! Good to see you.”
“Good to see you again, Patron!”
Josh winced. He hated to be called Patron,
especially with his father still running the
Enclave. “What can I do for you?”
“You can withdraw your negative vote and
make our decision unanimous.”
Josh shook his head. “I can’t do that
Chairman. You know my objections. I’m not
against renewed contact: We need each other. I
just don’t think asking them to accept Migrants
as settlers is a good idea.”
“I understand, Josh, but theses Migrants
can’t be allowed to continue plundering as they
like. Mars has said it needs settlers. They have
millions of acres of newly opened lands ready
for farmers and ranchers. Mars is still a new
world, Josh. Ours is old, like me.”
Josh laughed. “Age has not dimmed your
wisdom, Chairman. Earth is changing. We must
change with it. The Migrants are like us, maybe
even more so. They will not willingly transfer to
Mars and its pursuit of technology.”
“Is this idea not change enough?”
“The Migrants are perhaps adapting to the
changes better than we are. Perhaps the day of
the Enclave is as past as that of the city.”
“You’re suggesting we run naked through
the jungles and pray to the moon like the Retro-
Savages! What about civilization? What about all
we have accomplished?” The Chairman’s face
was red from anger. Josh had not meant to
upset him but some things had to be said.
“We have had our day! We used up the earth
and almost destroyed it in our ignorance.
Perhaps Mars will fare better. It is a sterile world,
free of competing species. We can only hope
they do not follow the same, dead-end path we
have pursued. The earth is changing; the
animals are changing, evolving. If we fall into our
old pattern of fighting the planet, we will lose!”
The Chairman sighed. “I understand your
passion, Josh, but not your wisdom. We will
speak later.”
The vid went blank. The conference was
scheduled to last an hour but Josh’s blast at the
Council’s decision to agree to Mars’ request had
cut it short. They had made their decision and
no argument from him would change it.
Maybe he was wrong. Sometimes he hoped
he was but he felt, deep, down inside where the
soul lives that he had to be right.
Mankind had thought he could subdue
nature if we spent enough money and energy to
do so but we soon learned we couldn’t win in
the long run. Man had to coexist with nature. If
nature has decided to allow other sentient
species to evolve, man had no choice but to
allow it to happen.
He could nurture this new heir to the planet
or he could fight it. Josh preferred to nurture it.
The Migrants were closer than most to
nature. A few misfits stole things at times but
most survived off the land, peacefully, moving
from place to place. Most groups had managed
to do so without losing their grasp on
civilization. They still made clothes, shoes,
pottery; all the things man needs to survive.
Most of all, they had not lost their identity.
He needed to speak with his father.
“Con, find my father.”
Con look annoyed at the tone in Josh’s
voice but, more like the faithful servant than
personal secretary, he went off to do as
requested.
Josh was sitting, staring out the window at
the forest around him, when Adams returned. He
could tell by the look on the security chief’s face,
the news was not good.
“Patron,” Adams began and broke into a
sob.
Josh’s heart almost stopped beating. “My
father!”
“Patron, I bring bad news. A scout team
found your father and all of the Saliende
household dead, slaughtered. I’ve called my
men together. We’ll find this band of Migrants
and wiped them out!”
Josh’s head reeled. “Migrants? Migrants
killed my father? I don’t believe it!”
“We found pieces of homespun and Migrant
moccasin prints all around. You should have let
me get rid of them my way earlier,” Adams
accused.
He stood up and pushed past Adams. “I
must see for myself!”
“As you wish, Patron,” Adams complied
reluctantly. “But only if a well-armed team,
including myself, accompanies you.”
Josh nodded his approval. He couldn’t
believe it. Why would Migrants wipe out a small
farm? He knew Frederico Saliende. The man
would have given the Migrants anything they
needed. He knew that Saliende, like his father,
often hired Migrants to pick fruit from his
orchard and keep one third of the crop, a very
generous amount.
It was unheard of for an individual Migrant
to kill. Such behavior called for expulsion from
the band. A man alone could not survive long in
the jungle. That an entire band would revert to
savagery was unthinkable.
Josh’s knew he could not allow his sorrow
at his father’s death cloud his judgment. His
heart cried out for vengeance and it would be
easy to follow Adams blindly and eliminate the
Migrant band.
He must place aside his anger and his
heartbreak long enough to use the wisdom his
father had tried to encourage in his son.
As Adams was leaving, he stopped him.
“Bring no augmented weapons. Only rifles.”
Adams protested. “We’ll need night vision
scopes and trackers!”
“No. I don’t want this to turn into a
slaughter. If a Migrant, or even a few, have
turned savage, the other Migrants will help us
track them down. I don’t want to intimidate
them.”
“As you wish, Patron.” Adams smiled. “You
are very much like your father. I suppose you
want us to ride horses instead of ground cars.”
Josh returned his Adams’ smile. Every
Enclave had a few electric ground cars in case
of an emergency. Though not strictly forbidden
by law, they were frowned upon as excessive.
“Yes, please. I feel it is important to show these
Migrants we are not out to harm them.”
Adams frowned and gave Josh a quizzical
look. “Aren’t we?”
“You think the Chairman is right?”
“If we are to survive, there can only be one
dominant culture. Perhaps these Migrants would
be better off on Mars. It would be equally
challenging. Safer. Mars is a new world.”
Josh shook his head. “Mars is still very
dependant on technology. The Migrants could
not remain Migrants on Mars.”
“Maybe it’s for the best. The Migrants are
surely headed for extinction.”
Josh smiled at this. “Perhaps it is we who
are headed down that slow path, my friend.”
Adams remained silent for a time. “I’ll get the
men and horses ready.”
#
The jungle was a tangled mass of vines and
undergrowth, a verdant, living organism gone
mad. The luxuriant growth forced the men to ride
single file as a tracker cut a path ahead of them.
The tame forests and fields surrounding the
Enclave were gardens in comparison to this
ocean of trees and vines.
The jungle provided a multitude of
medicines and foods for the Enclave but only a
few native gatherers ever ventured there.
The sun beat down upon them between the
towering trees with the savagery of a malevolent
being trying to smite them from the face of the
land. Hordes of stinging insects descended from
the treetops and engulfed them in a cloud of
misery. Mandu, the tracker passed around a foul
smelling unguent made from the urine of
monkeys. It helped but Josh preferred the
insects.
To Josh it seemed they were taking the long
way around, avoiding any of the paths he was
familiar with. They skirted many deep pools of
water teeming with piranha and other predatory
fish. Adams kept them true to their path with the
GPS unit in his watch. Without it, they could
have wandered the jungle for days. The sun was
now just a bright haze overhead, diffused by the
trees like a sunscreen.
Adams pulled his horse along side Dancer.
“We should be getting close. I had Mandu take
us deep in the jungle to avoid detection,” he
explained.
“You fear an ambush?” Josh questioned.
Adams looked indignant. “Your life is in my
hands. It is my duty to protect you!”
With his father dead, Josh was now Patron.
It would take a while to sink in. “Forgive me,
Adams. You did the right thing.”
The jungle suddenly came alive with the
sound of drums.
“We’ve been spotted,” Adams informed him.
Josh inspected the small clearing in which
they had stopped. “Perhaps it would be better to
wait here.”
Adams began an objection; then stopped.
“It is as good a spot as any.”
“Have everyone dismount.”
“Dismount!”
They sat and waited for nearly an hour, the
drums beating steadily the whole time. Adams
was nervously surveying the jungle while Josh
toyed with a piece of lemon grass.
As a child, he had often plucked large
blades of the yellow grass and chewed on it as
he rode at his father’s side. It’s slightly citrus
aroma brought back fond memories.
The sense of smell is one of nature’s
strongest memory evokers. Of all the five
senses, it is the one least tampered with by man
in his quest for perfection. Ocular and
tympanic augments were common. Though
Josh did use them, he knew Adams did.
The odor of the lemon grass reminded him
of spring days when his father roamed the land
surrounding the Enclave, before the coming of
the Migrants,
“Josh,” his father often said. “We are
blessed here in this land. My father lived in a city
and watched it decay around him. He came here
and started our Enclave. Brought twenty-five
people with him. You will some day inherit all
this. I hope you remember all I’ve tried to teach
you.”
Now his father was dead, murdered
according to Adams, by the very Migrants men
such as his father and Saliende tried so
desperately to help. It made no sense.
“We have company,” Adams whispered.
Josh looked up and saw nothing. “Where?”
Adams nodded to a large tree. “About
twenty yards beyond. Five, I think.”
Josh stood. “Welcome, my friends!” he
called to the jungle. “Come speak with us! Upon
my honor as Patron Hammond, you will not be
harmed.”
A few minutes later, five men walked into the
clearing. Each wore the homespun clothe of a
Migrant. Two carried long spears and stood to
each side, warily eyeing Adams and the others.
The other three, two men and a woman, walked
forward with the dignity and bearing of royalty.
The oldest man, perhaps fifty, though it was
difficult to tell with Migrants, faced Josh. “I
remember you well, young Day Singer.”
“Claudio! Now I recognize you!” He held out
his hand to the man in whom his father held
great respect.
Claudio glanced at the offered hand but did
not take it. “As a child, you sang to the Great
Spirit of the Jungle. Do you still sing?”
Josh remembered singing songs his father
had told him were songs of blessing. He used to
sing them as he rode. “It has been many moons,
Claudio, but I remember one.”
He began to sing. “Go forth Great Lifegiver.
Shine your face on my bowed head. I kneel in
awe at your glory and praise your truth and all-
knowing mind.”
As he sang, he saw the woman mouth the
words with him. When he finished, Claudio
smiled and took Josh’s hand.
“You are indeed Day Singer. Welcome to the
Land!” He motioned for the others to sit. “My
men brought me the news of your father, the
gray Patron. It saddens me.” He looked at the
men in the clearing, rifles slung across their
shoulders. “You think my people did this evil
thing.”
“The signs point to Migrants. What news do
you have?”
He motioned to the woman. Josh noticed
that in spite of the colored clay they each wore
on their faces to ward off insects and the shaved
head, she was quite beautiful. “Teia, show him
the rareza.”
Josh knew that rareza was Spanish for
‘oddity’. He looked closely as the Teia unfolded
a piece of clothe. Inside was a shiny piece of
metal as long as a man’s hand. On it was etched
a design unfamiliar to him. A series of four
buttons ran along one side.
He shook his head. “I don’t recognize it.”
“I do!”
He turned to Adams. “What is it?”
“It’s an ancient weapon, used before the
Wars. It’s called a Pulser. Saw one in weapons
book once in your father’s library.”
“Pulser?”
“It contains a very sophisticated power
source. By pressing one of the studs, a
graduated amount of energy is released in a
tightly focused beam.”
“Like a laser?” Josh asked. In his office, he
used a type of laser to read finely etched
recording discs.
“Yes, only this weapon is designed to kill!”
Josh turned to Claudio. “Where did you find
this?”
“Near the Saliende home. It was found with
the bodies of six of our men.”
“Take me.”
Claudio pointed to Josh and Adams. “You
two only. The others must remain here.”
Adams stood up. “No way will I allow you to
…”
“Agreed!” Josh interrupted as he shot
Adams a glance.
“Tentio, Mekuro and Tasse will remain as
hostage for your safe return,” Claudio said,
looking at Adams. “Teia and I and will guide
you.” He stood and bowed.
“Come on Adams. You can’t believe these
people know abut a Pulser.”
He shook his head. “It’s not them I’m afraid
of.”
Tech weapons such as the Pulser had been
outlawed for a hundred years, even on Mars.
Rifles equipped with tracking scopes and
directional bullets had proven just as effective
but used homespun technology to fabricate.
Josh knew that anyone using a Tech weapon
would probably have little or no regard for
human life, especially Migrants or Retro-
Savages.
Since Tech weapons were banned, the
owners of such devices would not hesitate to kill
Adams and himself to keep their secret.
What was their secret? What could they
possibly want in the deep jungles of South
America?
Claudio led them to the destroyed cluster of
building belonging to the Saliendes. Adams’
men had buried the bodies earlier, except, of
course, for the elder Patron Hammond. His body
was at the Enclave being prepared to lie in state
before the funeral.
The interior of the house was in a shambles.
Broken furniture lay piled in the floor. Books and
reading discs had been trampled underfoot.
Sections of wood paneling had been ripped
down. There was little blood, which surprised
Josh. He associated violent death with blood. A
weapon such as the Pulser would leave no
blood. Its intense heat and energy would
cauterize any wound it made.
Teia crossed herself at the door of the main
house. He wasn’t aware the Migrants were
Christians as well as sun worshipers.
Claudio pointed to a small clearing outside
the house. “My men were there, as if killed
simultaneously. The Patron was here.” He
pointed to a corner of the room, near a window.
A rifle, bent and splintered, lay on the floor.
Josh closed his eyes and could see his
father standing at the window with his rifle in
hand, attempting to protect his friend. His father
had suspected danger. That was the reason for
his visit to the Saliendes. What danger did he
fear?
Josh let his senses flow from his body as he
had learned at the Academy. The pungent smell
of death lingered in the air, barely masked by the
fragrance of jungle flowers. The air tasted bitter
from the firing of rifles. He reached out. Four
men used rifles. They fired them for some time
before dying. Extending his senses, Josh
encountered something new.
Sounds, heavy metallic sounds echoed
from the jungle overgrowth, as if trapped there
like a fly in the spider’s web. The sounds were
accompanied by a feeling of anger, rage
perhaps. Its tang filled his mouth and soaked
into the pores of his skin. His heart raced and
his fists curled into balls.
“Let go,” Teia whispered in his ear, gently
rubbing his wrists to relax his fists. “The
memories have taken you to a place you are not
yet ready to visit.” She grabbed his face and
turned him toward her. Her eyes looked into his.
“Look at me,” she coaxed. “Let go of your anger
and come back.”
Slowly, as if a balloon deflating, he purged
the feelings that had invaded him and calmed
down.
Claudio looked at him. “You saw, Day
Singer?”
“Yes. I saw.”
“What? What did you see?” Adams asked.
“Gaiaists!”
Adams recoiled at the word. “Gaiaists?”
Josh nodded. “There were five of them in a
ship. They were searching for something but
didn’t find it.” Suddenly it hit him. “The Enclave!
They’ll go there next!”
He pushed out of the house. He wished he
had allowed Adams to bring groundcars. It
would take hours to get back. By that time …
He saw Adams touch his throat mic and
nod. “I called a floater. It will be here in twenty
minutes. We’ll meet it on the way.”
“Good man,” Josh told him.
Teia grabbed his arm. “What are Gaiaists?”
He looked at her frightened face and
remembered he had not thanked her for bringing
him back.
“Gaiaists were people that opposed man’s
dominion of the earth. They believed earth was
through with man and would be better off
without his interference. After an attempted
coup, they were driven into the far north. We
have not heard of them in a century or more.
They have returned.”
“For what end?”
“I don’t know,” he answered, “but they are
willing to kill to locate that for which they seek.”
Claudio whispered into Teia’s ear. “My
father will not go with you. His place is here with
his people. I will go in his stead. He says you will
need me to anchor you.”
“What does that mean?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know but my
father sometimes sees beyond tomorrow and
his wisdom is without question. I will go.”
Her stance and her manner of speaking
argued against refusal. “Okay.”
Josh walked quickly down the trail ahead of
the others. His stomach churned with the news
that his father had died at the hands of Gaiaists.
His father, of all men, had tried to live in close
harmony with nature. There were no more large
cities, no global pollution. What were the
Gaiaists after? What did the Saliendes have the
Gaiaists wanted?
Then he had another thought. What if it was
something his father had?
He remembered once, a long time ago, his
father had visited Mars as a diplomat, attempting
to strengthen trade ties with earth. He had
brought back many strange and wonderful
things for a ten-year old boy to play with. His
favorite had been statue of a beautiful woman in
a green robe holding a crystal globe of earth in
her hands. The globe glowed when he touched
it.
His father had warned him of the globe’s
value. “The woman is Gaia, Josh, the world
mother incarnate. It is very old and precious. We
must keep it safe.”
He had locked it in the office safe. Why?
The sight of the floater brought a sigh of
relief. The small platform was nothing more than
a sled equipped with an antigrav engine. It was
used for hauling heavy items. Modified with a
large fan, it made an excellent all-terrain vehicle.
Adams and the driver sat in the front. Josh
and Teia sat in the back. He noticed the way she
watched him.
“What?”
She smiled. “My father warned me about the
Enclaves but you don’t seem too bad.”
He laughed. “We quit roasting children
years ago.”
“The others fear us.”
“Most don’t understand you. I think I do.”
“We are simple people but we are not
children. We are proud.”
“That is good. Pride in yourself and in your
beliefs is important. It was when man lost his
pride in himself that the world turned on us.”
She smiled and touched his hand. “My
father was right about you, Day Singer.”
“What did he say?”
“He said you were a Migrant at heart. He
said you would become a great man.”
Josh looked at her, unsure of what to say.
He settled on a broad grin.
As the topped the rise near the Enclave, all
looked well. People milled about in the fields and
courtyard. Smoke came from the chimneys.
“We beat them here,” Adams yelled over the
noise of the fan.
“Maybe,” Josh replied reluctantly.
Something in the air seemed wrong. Then he
saw it, a glint of metal behind the compound. He
pointed it out to Adams.
Adams glanced at his rifle and Josh knew
he was wishing for something larger if they were
to face Gaiaists. Defending the Enclave was his
responsibility, yet three quarters of his men were
still in the jungle.
Josh tried to console him. “If they wanted to
destroy the Enclave, they could have easily.
Perhaps we can talk to them.”
As the floater entered the gates over the
bridge, Josh saw them – four Gaiaists standing
on the veranda. Two held the strange Pulser
weapons. All wore green uniforms of a military
cut. He steeped off the floater ahead of Adams.
“You killed my father,” he accused as he
approached. “Why?”
The oldest of the four, a man with white hair
and bright blue eyes stepped forward. “You are
the younger Hammond?”
“I am. Now I am Patron of this Enclave and
you are not welcome here.” His voice was a
challenge but the old man simply smiled and
shook his head sadly.
“Your anger is reasonable but misplaced,
Patron. Your father’s death was not intentional.
The Migrant band saw us and attacked. We
defended ourselves. The people in the
compound fired at us also, perhaps thinking we
were attacking. We fired back.”
Josh nodded at the Pulsers. “You knew they
had no such weapons. They were no threat.”
The old man shrugged. Josh resisted an
impulse to strangle the man but knew he would
die if he moved in his direction.
“Why have you come here?”
“We come for the holy relic.”
“Relic? What relic?”
“The statue. We know your father brought it
from Mars. We want it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The old man’s face grew grim. He nodded
toward the house. “The other would not open
the safe. Now he is dead. Do not toy with me!”
Con dead! “You butchers!” he yelled.
The old man nodded and one of the men
with the Pulser aimed and fired at a worker near
the wall. The man screamed and dropped,
smoke billowing from his clothing.
“You …!” He lunged at the old man but
Adams held him back. He struggled futilely
against Adams’ hold.
The old man pointed to the dead worker.
“You try my patience. Open the safe and we will
leave. Refuse and I will kill all here.”
“Why do you want the statue?”
“The Gaia is a holy relic, the key to the
destruction of man. Man is an infestation on the
world, an aberration. Once he has been
eliminated, evolution can follow its proper
course.”
“Look around you! The Migrants are hunter-
gatherers living in harmony with the earth! The
Retro-Savages are nomadic herders, never
staying in one place for long! Even the Enclaves
work closely with the land, eschewing
technology where we can. The days of the city
are long gone. What purpose do you think you
serve?”
“One hundred years! Man has turned from
the ways of technology for one hundred years!
Do you think a century justifies the millennia of
devastation man caused? When men tire of their
silly games, they will erect large cities once
again and again, the world will suffer. Before the
War, we urged man to leave the earth, to build a
human world on Mars, a dead world. We could
have done so with a tenth of our resources. It
took a global war to convince man of the error of
his ways!”
“The Gaia is a symbol for those of us who
remember. We lived in the frozen wastes and
waited. Others hide still in other places. With the
Gaia, I will rally those still in hiding and rid the
world of its vermin. There are still many
weapons, powerful weapons, hidden in the
bowels of the earth. With them, we will purge the
world of man!”
“What of the damage to the earth by these
weapons? Do you not remember the turmoil
after the War? The floods? The fires?”
“Nature will fill the void in time. It is her
essence.”
Josh stood straight and looked the old man
in his blue eyes. “I will not help you. If you wish
to eliminate man from the world, then you must
start with me.”
The old man shook his head. “You force me
to kill you all. We will open the safe eventually.
The Gaia will be ours!”
“Man has become part of the world. It is you
who are the savages, outcasts. You are
superfluous. The earth herself will resist you!”
he shot at them.
“We will –”
The ground shook as a massive explosion
detonated behind the Enclave. A column of
flame and smoke leaped high into the air, visible
over the roofs of the buildings.
The old man’s eyes went wide. “The ship!
Get to the ship!”
Before any of the four could move, a flurry
of arrows and spears erupted from the trees and
landed among the Gaiaists. All four fell to the
ground. The old man pulled a Pulser from his
pocket and pointed it at Josh.
“You, at least, will die.”
His words were cut off as a large metal axe
flew through the air and removed his head.
Josh sagged and Teia held him up. He
turned to see Claudio and several dozen
Migrants emerging from the trees. “Thank you.”
Claudio nodded. “We destroyed their
machine.” He pointed to the old man. “This one
spoke of the Land as if he loved it. It is a pity his
mind was fevered.”
“Yes. Yes it was.”
Adams whistled. “That was close!” He
turned to Claudio. “Thank you! I was wrong
about you and your people.”
“We are all people.”
Teia looked up at Josh. “What will we do?
Are there more of these Gaiaists?”
Josh touched her cheek and his hand
lingered there. She reached up and touched his
hand. “If there are, we will need help in locating
them. Perhaps I was wrong after all. Would you
like to go to Mars?”
“Why?”
“The people of earth will need closer ties
with her sons if we are to survive. The earth
changes and we must adapt, yet we must remain
a civilized species. All technology is not bad. We
need Mars’ help to locate the remaining Gaiaists.
They need people. Who better than Migrants?
“Think of it! If the outlying districts, the
frontier of Mars is settled by Migrants and people
from the Enclaves, working together, we can
build Mars into a new world with none of the
errors of the past.
Teia leaned into his arms. “I will go with you.
If you will have me?”
“What about you Adams?”
Adams smiled. “I like it here. I will keep it
safe until you return. But who will act as Patron
in your stead?”
“Claudio? Will you run the Enclave, for the
benefit of both our peoples?”
“In the name of the Great Lifegiver above, I
will do this thing if Adams remains.”
Josh took Teia by the hand. “Come, Teia.
We must make plans for the future of the world.”
He knew it was the right decision. He could
feel it in his soul. The ideals of the Enclave
would survive on Mars, would thrive there where
death was a constant reminder of man’s frailty.
The Gaiaists were a century too late. Man and
nature were becoming one. The earth was
evolving a new species, all right, and that
species was man.
The end. 5800 words