Five Days on Pimu

Five Days on Pimu

  A short story collection

  By Gabe Sluis

  First Edition

  Copyright Gabe Sluis 2014

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locations or persons, living or dead or undead, is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Five Days On Pimu

  A Step Back In Time: Unpublished Journal Entries From The Early Days On Cyn

  Dutch Power

  A Night in Kayros

  Waking the Robot

  I See You Most Nights

  The Death of Aros

  Five Days On Pimu

  The inside cabin of the transport aircraft was silent with the roar of engines and whipping wind from drag. Men sat facing each other along the inside walls, small helmeted heads in the center of a mound of gear. Some were sleeping, some stared off in their own thoughts. Most were young; all had faces devoid of any subtle softness, which was indication of the kind bodies beneath. Goggles hung under chins and all exposed skin was covered. The grey aircraft climbed high into the early morning sky.

  The uniforms were all the same. Items were mounted in the same positions on the soldiers’ kits. Should an item be needed from a comrade, one knew right where to find it. Everything was dress-right-dress, except for Barrak Fare. The out of place individual still looked like a soldier, except for hair an inch longer than the rest and a light, yet full black beard. He sat in similar gear with his back to the cockpit divider. The folded glider wings on his back were military issue, but the personal clothing and survival pack were of mismatched colors.

  The Glide Master, outfitted in an emergency parachute, came around the divider from forward and gave the hand signal to his flock that they were ten minutes out from release. The troops echoed back the message and began final preparations. The GM sat next to the odd-man-out and leaned in for a shouted private conversation.

  "The green light will be left on long enough for you to launch after the sticks have gone. You good on the distance and direction of your intended target?"

  "Yeah, mate!" The former soldier shouted back.

  "These type-D's have ten seconds of assisted burst! You good on that?" the GM asked.

  "I've only been off the line for a year, Tom. I know how the D's work! I was a cadre at glide school when they introduced them!"

  "Well it's good to see you again Fare! No one had heard from you since you got out! We got a little worried!"

  "I appreciate you doing this for me too!" Fare shouted back. "You sure they won't miss the wings?"

  "Ehh!" the Glide Master said, waving his hand. "We never have any equipment losses! Pushing long training runs on us from Yelamu down to the desert once week, is going to produce losses. Maybe loosing a glide system here or there will make the chuckle-heads in Ground Service Headquarters rethink how hard they are pushing us!"

  "Still strange to hear it called that! Seems like a lot has changed in the time I've been away!"

  "Don't we all know it! A bunch of officers got reassigned over to the Space Service when the reformation happened too. It's a whole new world out there!"

  "I've seen it out on the street! A culture change! Recruitment has really picked up..."

  The light above the pair’s head changed from red to yellow, indicating that it was time for the troops to get into position for their launch. The aircraft had reached the position and elevation necessary for the wing-borne troops to make it all the way to their distant location within the individual glide packs' standard range of 500 miles.

  "I gotta get the kids ready! It was great to see you again Master Sergeant! Stay in touch from... which island is it again?"

  "Pimu!"

  The GM nodded his head and double tapped the hammer on a finger gun. He turned to his troops, pulled his goggles up on his head, and started with his big, punctuated hand motions, preparing the men to exit the aircraft.

  The back door opened and the soldiers of the new reorganization of the Tellus Global Army, now known simply as the Ground Service, shuffled out, two at a time, offset as to not collide on exit. The troopers fell for three seconds; face forward, until their glider wings slowly extended out, turning them into independent gliders. On the tips of each of the wings was a single can-style rocket, which would produce ten seconds of thrust that could give the troopers a margin of control over their heavier-than air free flight craft.

  Barrak Fare watched the practiced men exit the aircraft without a single hiccough, giving him a bath in nostalgia for the times when he taught and fought with the glideborne soldiers. The Glide Master was the last to exit the aircraft and gave a sloppy salute to his friend before leaping off the tail ramp with confidence.

  Rather than the standard walk-off-and-open-after-three, Fare sprinted for the open sky, diving out the back and triggering the spreading of his wings as soon as he was out of the threshold of the larger craft. His wings came open as he veered west from the pack of soldiers below him that were on a direct route to the desert training ground to the south. Below him, the glint of a wrist mirror flashed over Fare's glider. The Glide Master who had snuck Fare onto the flight pulled one leg out of its locked tail support and scissored it out twice. Fare returned the all okay to his friend as the individual took his own bearing that gradually separated him from the pack.

  The wind howled as his thick clothes flapped in the wind. Despite the fact that it was a warm day on the ground, up at the necessary altitude to achieve the targeted glide distance, it was very cold. Fare breathed deep from the trickle of supplemental oxygen that fed in through his protective mask. His goggles projected a pre-programmed flight path, which the lone glider switched off once he determined his bearings. From this height, Fare could not see the island to the south, but the mountains on the coast were an easy waypoint between himself and his goal.

  The land below was nearly featureless; purple mountains surrounding a long marshy valley. The big blue ocean to the west was obscured by thousands of feet of morning moisture hanging in the air. Barrak Fare was only thirty-nine years old, yet the mileage he experienced felt very different from the time that had passed. Aloft above layers of mist in the open sky, he felt completely free. It was the reason he became an instructor at the glide school in the two years prior to the alien attack. The freedom of being completely in control of himself up in the wide open sky was like no other feeling he had found in his military service.

  And so, on his glide above the wild lands of the North Colombian west coast, Barrak Fare completely relaxed and took in the serenity of the beauty below him. Soon, the solo glider found itself passing over the mountains that had been designated as a waypoint and the collection of expertly engineered metal that managed to stay aloft on the wind left the mainland for open ocean. Rechecking his goggles, Fare initiated a three second burst from his rockets, to correct his path and minimize the speed at which he was shedding elevation. Sheets of haze shifted below the pair of wings and a chain of islands stood out from the deep blue, framed by a border of white water that crashed against cliffs and shores.

  Hundreds of intense seconds passed as the solidly built man guided his craft down to the waters surface. At two hundred feet, the glider turned south, parallel to the shore, and the rockets flared again, leveling out the flight path. The wind off the surface, which fed the waves on their approach to the rocky shore, pushed up on the gliders wings, giving a substantial amount of lift to the glider. Fare looked for a beach as gravity fought a winning battle on his equipment. Prior to the trip, Fare had spent hours learning the landscape of the big southern island. Now, looking at the land in person, he att
empted to reconcile the overhead view he had come to know with the actual landmass he had glided so far to see. A good spot to swim ashore finally presented itself.

  The last of the gliders booster rockets were fired. The craft petered out all its forward speed as Fare tilted the glider backward to trade momentum for altitude. When the glider had come to a velocity that seemed far too slow to continue to maintain, the pilot initiated a maneuver that was rarely used except in emergencies. Instead of releasing his lower body to run off the landing, Barrak Fare fully ejected himself from his glider wings, dropping himself and his water tight gear free of the flight equipment.

  The shock of the water was overwhelming. Even though Fare had chosen to perform a water landing, which was highly undesirable for glide troops, the sudden change from flight to complete submersion was quite disorienting. Fare surfaced in a cascade of aerated water, flipping the flight helmet off to the side as he floated in his buoyancy-activated flight suit. As the cold ocean water began to creep in through his gear and onto his skin, Fare began the short swim from his crash landing site in to the shore of Pimu.

  The glider wings sunk twenty feet to the ocean floor, abandoned. The surf zone was forgiving to the former soldier, as the bottom topography was a gradual rise up to the beach. Barrak Fare trudged out of the water, pack dragging behind, other gear dangling from the strong body beneath. Fare crossed the high water line and plopped down on the polished rocky beach. He breathed heavy but was happy.

  Barrak had been making his plans for exiling himself to this island for over a year. He had quit the Army right before the reorganization and had stayed off the grid since. His first idea was to live in his cabin in the mountains, but the winter snow, which had seemed appealing in theory, had changed his mind about the climate he wanted to enjoy in his retirement.

  The more he considered where to go, the stories he read as a child of shipwrecked sailors kept coming to mind. He had learned survival tactics in his service, but they had always been framed in a situation where support was never far behind. The general mentality of making things work out of pure willpower was solidly implanted in his personality. As Fare stripped of the flight suit and gathered his gear for the climb off of the beach and up into the interior of the island, a cold wind came off the water and the sun started its run to the far side of the island.

  The way up to the interior of the island was a steep hike. The smooth ground had very little vegetation other than the small patches of cacti, which had to be circumnavigated. At several points, the way became such a drastic incline that the experienced hiker had to go to all fours, often sliding backwards on the crumbling ground, to make the next semi-horizontal surface. Still wet from the ocean water, the climb was less than ideal, but soon Fare reached a thin path that wound its way to the top of the island.

  Upon reaching the top of the coastal ridge, the lone hiker was exhausted. It was still several hours from darkness, but without the need to make any specific time, Fare was happy to call it a day. Looking inland, the reservoir that he was planning to make his main camp was still out of sight. There was said to be a few small native communities on the island, but no sign of human life was apparent other than the inconspicuous trails through the hills.

  Fare spied a smattering of large rocks nearby and set off to hang up his field hammock. The trees he was expecting to use as anchor points were still several miles off, but spikes were easy to mount into the rocks and soon he was swinging in his nylon cocoon, off the ground and away from any pests. With the sun still partially up in the sky the big man drifted off to sleep on his first day on Pimu.

  The sun was bright even with the thin sheets of mist that hung over the rock in the middle of the sea. Fare awoke long before the sky began to lighten, and an age before the big orange ball started its march across the sky. The big man began his trek southward along the ridgelines above the east coast of Pimu. His hands felt empty walking with a pack and no weapon to be cradled in his arms. He had considered bringing an old model long rifle along with him, but the island supported no large predators for him to justify its added weight. A hatchet and fixed blade hung at his belt, his survival luxuries, but he missed the company of a firearm in his hands.

  Looking down to sea level, tiny makeshift ports could be seen at some of the more prominent coves. It was comforting to know that there was others on the island with access to modernity should there be an emergency, but so far, Fare had not seen a soul, and that pleased him. The wind across the channel from the mainland looked to be in a mood, whipping up whitecaps and creating chaos where earth and water met. It was a fine day to be alive, out up high on the wild side of the world, walking where few ventured.

  After two hours of walking, Fare estimated his distance. The island was 25 miles long, and he had come down at least fifteen miles from the southern tip. On flat ground, at an easy pace, he generally walked a mile every fifteen minuets. Over the rocky terrain, with one ten minute break, the experienced soldier, who had called it quits in his prime, estimated that he had come at least 6 miles and decided to turn inland. From his map study, the far side of the island had a reservoir a mile or so from the coast and west of that was a flat grassy bluff that covered two square miles, supporting a species of small Asian deer that had been imported in the past by an ancient explorer who tried to call the island his own. The natives had none of the unwelcomed guest, much like the rest of the natives of Northern Columbia, resisting the colonization attempts of the light skinned people of Europa.

  Fare had never been much of a hunter, he had the basic knowledge of survival from manuals on the gutting and cleaning of wildlife, but he was sure he would catch on in no time. The way inland was mostly downhill from the dominant elevation of the eastside range. Fare wound down and over the humps of saddles rather than attempting to go straight down the draws where water took the path of least resistance and the thick brush exploited the moisture. For the most part the island was a dusty, dry rock, far from the image Fare had in his head of a lush tropical island. With the majority of the Colombian coast kept wild as native land, there were few visitors and less documentation on the actual conditions of the coastal lands. Far off in the distance, Barrak Fare caught sight of a heavily wooded area, which had to be the forest surrounding the body of fresh water.

  The roar of an engine overhead broke Fare's survey of the land ahead. High up in the sky, a flying fortress flew southward. Fare put a hand up to block the sun so he could look at the aircraft leaving the white streak across the sky. Within a heartbeat, Fare knew the craft was military rather than commercial by the shape alone. In a barely discernable action, something jettisoned from the tail of the craft. It was a minor glint from the sun that gave away the jettison, followed by the slightest hue of a rocket burn that alerted the man on the ground that the craft had launched something in the direction of the island. A rocket? Artillery? There was no reason anyone had known he had come to wild Pimu, he had traveled without leaving a trail. And there was no cause to think anyone would want to eliminate someone as insignificant as himself...

  The falling object was hard to track, being small and a color that blended in well with its background. Fare considered looking for cover but the longer he tracked the object, the more he became sure that it was going to land far south of his location. It's a weather package or something, Fare thought. They probably do lots of scientific studies out in the uninhabited areas. With is short break watching the sky coming to an end, Fare adjusted the pack on his sweating back and continued his march.

  Fare began his third day on Pimu in his field hammock surrounded by tall trees. The bearded man reached a hand out of his sleeping bag, his small, clean slice of refuge from the encompassing, dustiness of nature, and felt the outside of his bed. It was dry, which surprised him, as he expected to wake up covered in dew in this part of the island. The thought of the word island was now funny to Fare, with the time he had spent on the island changing his perception of what an island was. The pl
ace felt like any other place he had been, just land, since the place was so large and the ocean was not always in sight. Fare stayed in his hammock, swinging slightly with the wind passing through the trees, enjoying the lazy morning. It was his retirement, after all.

  Fare considered not completely taking down his camp as he ate from his diminishing rations. Having only seen a small sliver of the island, he did not want to count out the option that he would find a better spot and regret sinking time into a more permanent camp. Fare decided to remain nomadic for his first weeks on the island, as he became an expert on the area. He left his pack, hidden and ready to move, and ventured down to the reservoir. The small body of water was not much more than a rocky pool where fresh water happened to collect. As he stripped down and jumped in for a morning swim, Fare noticed a few small pump house structures on one side of the reservoir he had not noticed the day before. The locals must have set up lines and pumps to exploit the presence of fresh water on the dry island. Fare swam, a head gliding above the surface of the still water, over to a pump house. Five feet under the surface, a thick hose dipped toward the depths. Fare submerged himself and put a hand over the end of the pipe. Slight suction could be felt as the equipment gently drew water out of the basin. On the side of the crudely built structure, a weathered faucet poked out. This told the newcomer that there must be filtering apparatus as well as a pump inside the glorified box-with-a-roof, so that potable water could be accessible from the source. This was an important fact of which Fare took note as he slid back into the water.

  The air spit and wood splintered from the pump house. In an automatic trained reaction, Fare dove for cover, which happened to be the water surface. As he took long strokes, going for a distance swim under water, Fare's mind grasped for an explanation as to why he was just shot at. His lungs were on fire demanding to be refilled as he pushed to swim further from the place he had last been seen. He knew that water was great for stopping bullets and hoped he was deep enough to be protected. The split decision to surface overtook the fleeing man. It had to be a local upset that a white man was swimming in their water source, Barrack considered, scanning the shoreline. He had come up on the north side of the reservoir and decided it was time to get on solid land. With slow, smooth movements, Fare climbed out of the water and slithered to find some cover. From the refuge of the shadows beneath a fallen log, the soldier was still and scanned for the threat source.

  Two hours past. Patches of shade, islands in the sea of sunlight, shifted as the day progressed. Fare decided to move, but not back to his things, as they would not be found. He moved off away from the reservoir, resisting the urge to go back to the pump houses and follow one of the above ground water lines to its termination. If the locals would be upset by a visitor, it was best to confront them early and give them gifts of his goodwill. He knew many tribes of aboriginal Colombians still spoke in their old ways, but even this far away from a modern city there had to be someone who knew Latin...

  The grasslands on the western area of Pimu were a sharp contrast to the parts of the island that Barrak Fare had seen so far. The tan grass was waist high, and imitated the wave-like motion of the ocean beyond. Stooped pine trees bent away from the offshore winds, creating cave-like structures on the plane. Fare stocked through the grass, now keeping his head on a swivel for dangers, but also keeping his eyes on the ground for animal trails.

  The deer trails were easier to find, but the rabbit paths were the only things he was ready to exploit this early in his stay. Using a branch from a twisted pine, a snare was set up sitting at rabbit neck height and anchored firmly a foot from the run. Fare kept himself busy for the first half of the afternoon placing three snares across the grasslands in promising locations.

  With the snares set, the lone figure continued north, exploring the coves and small bays of the west side of the island. Fare could not shake the feeling of being observed while crossing the varying terrain. Occasionally he would pull old tricks he had been taught by scouts in the early days of his service. Doubling back and lying in wait for a tail yielded no new information, but the paranoid feelings persisted. Standing out on rocks in the waterline of a prominent bay, Fare realized how exposed he was on the island. Looking toward the land, there were countless places for a hostile observer to take up a hide and let loose another accurate shot. He considered getting in the water and trying to spear some of the large bright orange fish that were easily seen from the surface, as he would need to start collecting food soon, but he found himself hesitant. If the locals became upset enough to shoot at him over their water source, he may want to be cautious before he took any of the bright fish.

  Fare made his way back to his pack as the day came to a close, deciding that the best way to proceed would be confronting his aggressors and clearing up any misunderstandings. He had heard stories about many cultures' mistrust of single male outsiders over the threat they posed to women and recourses. He understood the justifiable biases many aboriginal peoples of this continent harbored for white people, but he had confidence that his demeanor and want of solitude would gain him acceptance after a short time. Fare looked up from his path and thoughts, noticing a figure far off, just inside the tree line.

  Fare raised his hand to the male figure as he continued forward to meet them. He knew he was still a good distance away, as no features of the visitor could be discerned at his present distance. Fare looked down for a moment as he leapt across a natural gully and when he looked back, the man was gone. Rescanning the entire area of the trees surrounding the reservoir, Fare could not find his observer. Feeling spooked, he made his way back to his pack and left the site of his previous camp.

  That night Fare spent the nighttime hours tucked into the vegetation of a gully rather than hanging his hammock in the open. He ate the remainder of his rations in silence, listening to the subtle sounds of life around him, knowing it would change and alert him to danger. He drifted off to sleep under the star filled sky, ending his third day on Pimu in hiding, but with a hopeful plan for the next day.

  Remembering the graphic quality of the maps of Pimu, Barrak Fare followed the low points of the hills to the center area of the island where he most expected to find other people. His snares had yielded nothing and had prompted the beginning of his main task of the day, to introduce himself to the natives. Looking back out to the northwest, a white speck on the blue ocean continued the theme Fare had experienced yet so far; life on the island, but at an unreachable distance.

  Coming over a sharp but small ridge, Fare found himself looking down on an abandoned landing strip. Short weeds had overgrown the majority of the packed gravel runway and a severely neglected picnic table sat in the dirt next to a collapsed shack and an old wooden cable spool. Walking across the center of the abandoned field, Fare found a sign on a pole identifying the airstrip as Buffalo Hawk Airfield.

  With his pack on his back, Fare roamed the interior of the island in search of others. The sun was bright and beat down on his exposed neck. The occasional tree provided little relief from the heat and sun, the branches being thin from a lack of water abundance. Insects buzzed while he rested, drawn by his fragrant sweat, prompting Fare to not stay immobile long. In order to better ascertain his position, Fare made for the east side of the island. From the top of the ridge, close to where he spent his first night, Barrak Fare decided he was quite confused.

  The only structures he had seen were small villages tucked in draws, right on the shoreline. It made sense to him that most of the reportedly small population would live near the coast so as to fish and have access to their boats. From all he had seen of the interior, the landscape was rough, while only a few good roads and paths crossed the hills. With the exception of the main reservoir, most the land would not be friendly to villages the way the coastal areas were. So who had been stalking him in the vacant expanses?

  Fog began to roll in from the direction of the mainland as Fare moved north along the eastern ridgeline. He selected
a spread of trees in an area he had not yet visited and was not in view of the ocean. Mist flowed overhead at the height of the hills as Fare set up his suspended bed and walked around the area as the light faded. He collected dried wood for a fire that he built in a classic ring of stones. Far off to the north of the island, a huge firework arced into the air, bursting in expanding red sparks. Barrak fare watched the unexpected display from his hammock when the fire suddenly went out.

  Barrak Fare turned to see the cause of the sudden loss of flames when the head end of the hammock gave way and his upper body fell eighteen inches to the ground, feet remaining partly elevated. The wind was knocked out of the big man and before he could move, a figure appeared above him in the trees. The slender male wore a skintight black body glove, face covered by a mask that was half of a prolated spheroid. He held nothing in his hands but a grip on the tree from where he was perched.

  Fare pulled his knees to his chest and spun around to face the assault.

  "I'm unarmed," Fare spoke up to the man above him. His voice remained sure as he slowly moved his body into position from which he could incite action.

  "I find that hard to believe of a man like yourself," the masked man said in standard Latin.

  "What do you want?"

  "I have a few questions for you, Barrak Fare."

  "I saw you drop in my second day on the island. It took you this long to find me?"

  "I wanted to see how you would react in certain circumstances. And you obliged me in just the way I expected you would from the documentation we had on you. Tell me, why did you leave your service?" the man behind the mask asked.

  "A new age is upon Tellus. After seeing how irrelevant men of my skills were in defeating the Grinners... It's a new game. I was not suited for the transition," Fare answered, relaxing a bit. "Who are you?"

  "I am called Edward."

  "And why have you come all this way, to an unpopulated rock, to find me and play tricks in the middle of the night?"

  "Why have you come to this rock? Why did you disappear so completely after you left? Why did you choose to travel out here the way you did?" Edward asked in a tone that suggested he did not truly care for the answer.

  "I grew board hiding out in my cabin in the snow. I needed a change of scenery. Going for a glide seemed like a more enjoyable way to come than watching the land go by on some train. Who sent you out here, anyway? Really, what is this about?"

  "What do you know about the Grand Marshal in charge of the Space Service?"

  "Nothing. Some people I served with were pulled into the Space Service when it formed, but they had technical skills. I never paid much attention to the new services as I was on my way out the door," Fare said.

  "Grand Marshal Midord was the youngest man to be promoted to Field Marshal in the Europa Air Force. When the Gathering at Amsterdam proposed and created the Tellus Global Army, he was placed in charge of the Space Service. That was ten months ago, and many big things are in the works."

  "I heard about the two defensive space stations they want to put over each pole in the next two years. Sounds ambitious."

  "The Grand Marshal certainly is. His vision has a long reach. He plans to expand the science station on Sulva as well as place a colony on Malacandra."

  "Why are you dazzling me with gossip?" Fare asked. "What is this about?"

  "The Grand Marshal's vision has other clever plans. To have control over such a large force, that may very well spread across the entire Field, he needs agents working directly in his interests to maintain cohesion," Edward said.

  "I don't understand..."

  "I think you do. I have seen your entrance test scores. Even as a youth you were very smart. That sort of thing only develops as you age. Your service was exemplary," Edward said.

  "I was nothing more than a glideborne trooper. I didn't even pass the special operations selection process..."

  "Did that crush you? Why did you not go back and try out again?"

  "I was a bit crushed by completing the two month selection only to be told I was not what they were looking for. I considered going back the next year, but I had a new son and I didn't want to be away from him while I was off training. And it's a good thing too, I think. I heard the one party that engaged the Grinners got ripped to shreds. I was content to soar in the open sky."

  "Well, you did pass the selection. A conversation with a cadre of the selection school informed me that they routinely turn away successful candidates to see if they have the resolve to return again."

  "Irrumator," Barrak Fare cursed under his breath.

  "I am the first to be selected by the Grand Marshal to be one of his agents. I have spent quite a bit of time researching others that I want to work alongside in the days to come."

  "What would an old Master Sergeant know about space stations and warships? I am not the kind of a technical expert that the Space Service would want."

  "And that's where you are wrong," Edward said. He jumped down from the tree and stood next to the fire ring. He squirted a fluid onto the smoking bones of the old fire and dropped a spark. The flames leapt back to life, illuminating the camp.

  "The Space Service will be full of the kind of people you imagine, but very few of your kind. You have demonstrated the bravery, ingenuity to come out here, undocumented, on a glider, and resolve to live in this type of environment. I am not even that type of person. You would be the second and we would find others. We would have no rank, but would outrank anyone other than the Grand Marshal himself.

  "So that is my offer to you," Edward continued. "Come back with me and leave this dull solitude. We will make a real difference in the service. You will matter in the defense of Tellus in a way that a glider grunt never could."

  The smooth mask flickered in the orange light as Fare listened to the proposition. Fare shifted his weight and extended his legs. At his full height, he was much larger than the black clad Edward.

  "Tomorrow. If you accept, meet me in the field where you set your snares."

  Barrak Fare was left alone in the night with his small fire and a large decision for company.

  A rabbit struggled in the snare. The pine anchor holding the thin cord bent with the struggling creatures futile attempts to free itself. Barrak Fare reached down and grabbed the short furred field rabbit by the scruff of the neck and held it up to his eye level. The scarred creature stopped struggling and stared at its captor with eyes about to pop out of its head. Fare smiled and cut the cord, freeing the animal from the simple trap. The rabbit streaked away into the tall grass faster than an eye could track.

  "So, I take it you will not be needing that for food," The masked man said from behind Fare.

  "It seems I was only meant to spend five days on Pimu."

  "I would have grown uninterested after far less," Edward said, sliding his mask on a hinge to the top of his head. The slender man had dark skin and dark eyes that matched his general garb. The whites of his eyes and teeth stood out prominently. "Now that you have accepted, we can meet face to face. I am Edward Tutu-Wassi."

  "Nice to meet you like this rather than in the dark," Fare said. "I have to know, was that you with the firework last night?"

  "That seemes to be an odd coincidence," Tutu-Wassi said.

  "So, what is the next step? Is there a boat waiting, or something?"

  "We are to return to Camlon for further recruitment efforts," Tutu-Wassi said as he pulled a pair of cylinders from his own small pack. "Unless you want to stop somewhere first..."

  "I am ready now. Got nowhere else to be," Fare said.

  Edward Tutu-Wassi handed Fare one of the cylinders and demonstrated the operation. The top twisted until a click sounded and a carabineer on the bottom side extended on a metal wire. The man in black clipped the device to his belt and popped the cap off the distal end. A release clip fired a cartridge that inflated a solid orange balloon, which grew until the canister rose into the air, trailing the wire out behind it.

 
; Fare clipped the device to his own belt and fired his own balloon. Edward flipped his facemask down and spoke to an unknown recipient. Fare considered grabbling his pack, but realized he would have no further need for his survival gear. Instead, he looked out at the island he had intended to call his home. It was beautiful, but Tutu-Wassi was right when he said he would have grown uninterested in far less than five days. Fare had enjoyed his time hiking and exploring the island, but he did not know how long that would have kept his attention. Would the sense of restlessness that had come to him in his cabin in the woods follow him to the island? Barrak didn't know, but that didn't matter now. Now he had a new future to consider, a future that would most likely find him in far flung places.

  "Say, what is this unit of undercover agents for the Grand Marshal going to be called?" Fare called to Tutu-Wassi as the roar of a cargo plane came up from the east.

  "Archmen!" Tutu-Wassi shouted to Fare as the plane swooped low, catching the balloons with a hook on its nose, lifting the two men on lines from the island and up into the air.

  A Step Back In Time:

  Unpublished Journal Entries From The Early Days On Cyn

  The colonization of the planet Cyn came at a time in human development when the preoccupation with religion and the obsession with theoretical science had finally come to an end. The human race had moved past the pursuit of unanswerable philosophical questions, as well as the fruitless search for a deeper understanding of a supposed multiverse, where travel to other realities and time was possible, and began to focus on tangible engineering accomplishments. They attained immediately success in this new direction by colonizing the earthlike world, Cyn.

  In this volume, personal entries from some of the worlds' earliest pioneers have been compiled to display the sense of triumph and wonder the brave individuals felt in the first years on the untamed planet.

  In an attempt at framing reference for the timeline of the planet, a brief history of the events leading up to the journal entries will be included. While this is not a comprehensive history, it is to the point and highlights the primary historical motivators and key aspects of events that make this volume of unpublished accounts a decipherable whole. These are the tales of the common men, rather than the prominent figures that shaped the early days of the world.

  In the early years of the 21st century, a number of planets were discovered by astronomers at the University of California at Santa Cruz to be in the circumstellar habitable zone (CHZ) of their local star. These new discoveries lead to a renewed interest in colonization and amounted to a dozen worlds identified as possible sites for human expansion. One Astrophysicist, Dr. Steve Barns, turned particular attention to a single planet out of the twelve. Dr. Barns's study of this Goldilocks planet lead him to conclude that it in particular would be the best planet to focus our attention on due to its greatest potential for support of human life.

  In a brilliant move to solidify the public's curiosity for the possibility of a new Earth, Dr. Barns redesigned the planet Chimes 281b as Cyn, after an abbreviation for a street name he grew up on in Southern California. With a new name to bolster awareness, research of the planet exploded, confirming much of Dr. Barns expectations of the potential planet. Long after his death Steve Barns would be remembered as the man who renamed the planet and pointed it out as the new direction for mankind. The day of the first human landing on the planet was adopted into the new calendar as Barns Day and marks the first day of the New Cyn Year.

  With confirmation of the existence of extensive water oceans and similar photosynthetic plant life, an Ark of biological life was launched to the planet to herald the eventual human arrival. The timeline of the launch was methodically developed, as the fourteen light year ocean of space between the two worlds was a gulf yet so far to be crossed by man. The journey would take twenty years for those who were chosen for the voyage, flying at the fastest speeds achievable. The pioneers were selected from the best humanity had to offer, children all in their twenties, who had no preexisting familiar bonds, and would experience half the crossing manning the crafts, and the other portion of time in a state of age arresting frozen sleep.

  Waves were sent at the planet, the hardiest first to establish footholds and act as a test for survival for the following passengers in the event of a need for mission recall. Enough ships were built so that by the by the time the last had departed Earth, the first generation would have made their way back to their origin, minus the landers and cargo, ready to be refilled and sent with a less particularly selected stick of passengers who wished to flee their birth planet.

  The sites for colonization were varied. A single port for arrival of landers was established in the equatorial zone and named for the selected captain of the first ship, Earth's Eagle, Trounse City. From Trounce, the settlers spread out at a wide array of sites selected for their geographic and topographic advantages. Some men, such as the case of our first subject, split even further away from their Colonization Sites (CS) to establish outposts of their own. The exciting fist days of these CS and outposts, some rising to prominence as successful cities, and others falling into obscurity, is an important part of the history of this planet. Even deeper, the attention to the individual entries of these pioneers as it relates to the overall picture of development can be an invaluable examination of the human macro-identity.

  Bertram Fulwiller at Outpost 42:

  Bert Fulwiller was an eighth generation pioneer that split off from CS #14 in the third Cynnian-Year After Arrival (CAA). Bert was an original native of the British Isles and filled out on the trip to Cyn to become a man of broad stature. As seen in his other recorded entries, Fulwiller developed the idea of starting his own outpost. Later, he would attract a similarly minded female colonist to build a family with. All colonists were encouraged to keep records of their progress in their briefings and training for the trip, but few adopted the idea. Bertram Fulwiller is one of the exceptions to the rule, and provides valuable information on the real life condition of early outpost pioneers.

  18:09 Day 211/392, 4 CAA. 4 miles north of Outpost 42-

  As I write this, the most interesting thing has just happened to me. I was just given food by the most unlikely of donors, a wolf. The situation I find myself in, accepting food from a wild beast known back home to be more likely to kill me than provide for me, seems to be a collision of bad luck compounded by evil weather. I shall explain:

  Geographic surveys have found that on this area of the plains, gases released from porous bedrock seep from the earth. This is part of the reason this is such fertile farm country. But in certain areas, due to topographic features, gas can collect and build. This is not usually a problem, but when an electrical storm comes through, static electricity discharges tend to become attracted to the pockets and create some beautiful displays that can last for several sustained minutes. Imagine it raining yellow lightning, and you can picture what happens.

  Traveling across the plains, having been foolish and not consulting the weather, I became caught in a violent electrical discharge which first struck my lower left leg and damaged my three wheeled cycle, leaving me stranded on a hillside. To escape the area of impact, I crawled downhill away from my cycle as the storm passed through the area, continuing to strike my means of transport. I lay on the short grass waiting for the hazy storm to pass from the area, holding my ears to the thunder, looking at the smoldering burn in my leg. At some point I must have fallen asleep with my head buried beneath my arms, for when I came to, calm had returned to the area.

  Crawling back to my cycle, I found the center tire had been hit, melting the rim, as well as several other strike sites across the metal structure. The worst of it was the electrical system did not come on, leaving the bike a worthless husk. Inside my gear was a small survival pack and medical pouch. I used the antiseptic/pain relief foam on the burnt entry and exit wounds of my leg.

  At this point, I should say that the reality of my situation had donned on me. I
could not walk on my badly injured leg; my transportation was inoperative along with the emergency communication beacon that was built in. I was stranded out on the prairie, four miles from any chance of relief or rescue. I will also admit, a dark shadow of depression clouded my mind for a duration after realizing my predicament, which I understood did not help my situation, but from which I had no immediate will to overcome. I cursed my stupid luck and my self for my bullheadedness of not having anyone with me in my life that would miss me and come looking when I did not return.

  In my anger, I forced myself to come up with a plan, which was simple and obvious, but had to be made. I must crawl the four miles home. Once I had forced the deed into my plan for survival, my spirits changed all at once. I took a small pack from my cycle, unpacked unnecessary bits, and added only what I would need for the trek. It was still early after midday when I crawled away on all fours in a southward direction. It also bears stating that I was forced to move in an unconventional manner, as the lower bones in my leg were warped by the electrical strike- which I would learn later. Any type of material to fashion into a crutch were unavailable to me in this barren landscape.

  For a normal person to transit four miles over generally flat ground by foot, I would estimate an hour or so of time to be devoted to the task. For myself, injured and feeling poorly after being electrocuted, it took much longer. My pace was slow on all fours, but soon the strength to move in such a swift fashion ran dry. The sun set on me as I dragged my body in fits across the ground.

  I had always seen the packs of wolves at a distance, running across the plain or howling at night; their presence a reminder of the impact of men on this world. Wolves were introduced along with other creatures to help create a tailored animal kingdom on a strictly floral world. As I first noticed the wild dogs presence, they watched my progress from afar. My mind wandered as I dragged myself toward home, watching the predators observe me. Would they sense my situation and take advantage of my weakened state? I had no tools at my disposal to defend myself, other than my soil encrusted fingertips I was using to pull myself along.

  Hours under the sun left me baked as the day finally cooled. I was low on energy and quite dehydrated while my outpost was still out of sight. I will further admit, much to my chagrin, that when the wolf approached me from behind, I was fully off my guard. The moment I recognized I was not alone, I rolled to my back and put my hands up to defend my face. My visitor was skittish and wilted back a bit from my movement, but came forward after the short standoff. In his mouth he held another transplant from our home world, a long eared hare that also occupied the barrens. The wolf came forward to a distance of two feet and dropped the offering, immediately retreating to a safe distance. The look on the wolf's face was the highlight of this encounter, I must say. He lowered his head, keeping his sharp, yet innocent eyes trained on me. I inched forward and retrieved the unexpected bounty, examining the hare, which seemed to have no obvious punctures or violence of death. I nodded to the wolf.

  The next part may be of my own warped memory, but he seemed to nod in return prior to taking off back in the direction of his pack.

  I stopped for several hours to prepare and consume this gift. Over the entire process, my mind was occupied by the extraordinary events that had occurred. What could have caused this wolf to go out of its way for a human? Was it some bond of kinship understood from our relocation to this welcoming, yet foreign world that connected us? I had read of bonds between other mammals back on Earth, most prominently between dolphins and swimmers, which were out of the ordinary. But this was striking. Had the wolf saved my life by delivering me this hare? No. I think I could have made it back to my home without the provision, but had it helped? Immensely.

  I, of course, made it home to call for assistance, though it took me thirteen hours of crawling. The wound to my leg was significant but as I write this, I am told I will walk without complication after a month of rehabilitation in hospital. But the ordeal did two significant things in my mind:

  One, it made me reconsider the urgency to add additional hands to my outpost. While here in Trounse, I have been taking time to frequent the placement offices and meet people at the cafes frequented by new arrivals. While solitude has suited me thus far, my accident has opened my eyes to the benefit of companionship.

  Finally, and in an almost spiritual sense, I have developed a great respect for the wildlife we have brought with us to this planet. We are refugees to this wild land and to my dying day, I shall go out of my way to help my fellow Earth creatures in any way I can, for as I have miraculously seen, they share this strong connection still with us.

  Dutch Power

  "This is untrue and deeply offensive. Recheck you facts 'cousin.' We are of pure Dutch blood and descended from the Onzichtbaar warriors (a Dutch marshal art that developed independently from, yet resembles ninjitsu) that helped throw off the Spanish oppressors and even had a role in the defeat of Napoleon."

  -Facebook comment by Gabe Sluis that more than likely inspired this work.

  People often ask me, "Sluis? What kind of name is that?" I tell them it is Dutch and most just go, "Oh," having no real idea what I just told them. I had a buddy in the Army who once spoke up for me when I divulged my heritage, and in his mind, clarified to the others that the Dutch were, "the Starbucks of white people." I smiled and agreed.

  But enough is enough! I feel compelled to dispel the ignorance surrounding the country of my Grandfather! We are not just white people. It pains me every time I am forced to check the box on forms, lumping in the great Dutch Race with all the other Caucasians! In fact, I don't even really consider myself white! The Dutch people are so much more. Our race has survived terrible oppression, mean spirited jokes about pancakes (which everyone loves and are delicious), developed a distinct culture, pioneered in the arts and sciences, produced great warriors and helped shape the world as we now see it. The Dutch deserve much greater credit than has been given! This essay is meant to be informative and I hope will open some eyes to these facts! Everything I say about the Dutch is true.

  My Grandfather came to America when he was twelve, the oldest of eight, learned English, went to MIT, served in WWII, and became a pretty good orthopedic surgeon. (I don't really know about the pretty good surgeon part, but he gave me a consult when I broke my arm when I was seven-ish, and had lots of money so...) These are the types of stories many Dutch children grow up with; greatness runs in our blood. My great grandparents saw the rise of Hitler and relocated to America for twenty years and then went back. Back in Holland, (where I took my first steps on a family visit trip) The Royal Sluis Seed Company was a huge distributer of all kinds of flower seeds. To this day, even though the company recently was sold to Monsanto, you can buy all types of seed packets in the Amsterdam Flower Market. My ancestors revolutionized planting methods at the time of the industrial revolution by inventing self-contained pouches for crops that could be inserted into the earth by automatic sowing machines.

  Oh, come on you crazy Dutch kid, that's not all that great, I hear you saying to yourself. Hold on there, buddy. It gets better.

  The Dutch are unique beyond having awesome flowers, windmills and the tastiest cheese in the world (Gouda, of course). If you are not seeing a theme here, it's that we are smart. We are inventors. Revolutionaries! We are clever and we come up with solutions to problems other just don't. The majority of the landmass of the Netherlands exists at, or below, sea level. But we still live there. We built dikes, canals, and levees to keep our land dry. Having a strong connection with the sea, we were known all over the world as the best ship builders. Even Peter the Great of Russia went to Holland as a youth to work in the shipyards to learn the craft to bring back to his people.

  We built gates that hung under the bridges that spanned our extensive system of waterways. These gates were, of course, called Sluis gates, and they kept attackers from using the ease of water travel to assault our cities. I don't know whom in my family
lineage to credit this innovation that saved the Dutch from our Spanish oppressors, but I like to think of him as the first Sluis; the one who gave us our family name.

  And that brings us to the topic of our Spanish oppressors! History has largely forgotten the Eighty Year War that started in 1586 where the Seventeen Provinces of the Low Countries fought off the Spanish Army that occupied the region since the early 1400's. This was when the secret development and training of Onzichtbaar warriors took place. The early writings of the Onzichtbaar style of warfare cited the disciplines development as an inevitable and organic response to an overwhelming foe. By employing the methods of stealth, infiltration, espionage, sabotage and assassination, the small numbers of Dutch warriors were able to overwhelm their large, slow, flabby advisory. Screw the Spanish! (But I do love burritos...) The Onzichtbaar avoided open combat for the most part, unless the odds were in their favor or in absolute necessity. And as history lays witness, it took some time, but the Dutch were successful in their clever take on war.

  Hey! What else is so remarkable about the Dutch you ask? Well, how about a grab bag of facts about us Dutchies! We are the tallest nation on average. Ever heard of Van Gogh? The Starry Night? Yeah, thought so... The Dutch trading companies? How about Hendrick Lucifer (yes, named after Satan) who was an awesome pirate? Read a book about him, you will forget all about Drake and those guys with colored beards. Dutch people are very handsome. Look up a picture of my brother or myself on the internet! You will not be disappointed. And the Pilgrims! They weren’t Dutch, but they tested out Holland and couldn't handle our open-mindedness after England, so they went to America. Yeah, I've heard the Dutch like to party...

  The Dutch were the first country to have an elected parliament. We have always been progressive in understanding and mediation. Look at all the treaties, courts, and councils that have been held at The Hague. When Europe is having problems and needs to meet ups somewhere and talk it out, they come to the Dutch for our common sense. In my family, we have a saying that we live by: desert before dinner. Most of my friends think my brother and I are just trying to be clever and annoying when they go out with us and we order pie before our meal. But think about it! Who wants to be stuffed with the bland nutritious food and not be excited for the sweet stuff when you could enjoy the good stuff first! The Dutch conceptualize the world a different way, and as I have pointed out with a sliver of our history, this thinking has been critical to key aspects of the shape we see the world today.

  So next time some common looking, tall, white guy says he is Dutch, keep on your toes! This guy comes from a great race of people. He may even have studied in an ancient form of martial art that avoided becoming as trendy and popularized as some others. We may look like common, coffee shop white people, and I may smile and agree, but now you know the truth. You are welcome.