smiles.
CHAPTER ONE
I don’t believe it! Marshall Buchanan stared at the pair of fours, seething in anger. This is my best hand of the night!
Call or raise, Marshall,
Gary Simmons said from across the table. It’s your turn.
Buchanan looked around the table. They all know I have nothing in my hand! Gene Fleming, another Grade-1, Small Equipment Engineer, sat at his left with that same look of disinterest on his big stubbly face that he always had. It really got on his nerves the way he never ever changed his expression. Maybe a fat lip and a broken nose would bring a smile to your face, you big, ugly, stupid ape. Gene was definitely someone he had grown to dislike. Gary sat opposite and held his head at a tilt just slightly. He looked right into Buchanan’s eyes with just a hint of a smile on his face. That means he has a good hand. Gary’s the only one at the table who lets me know what kind of hand he’s holding, and he knows he’s got me beat. Emerson Theodides, the highest ranking non-com-mech in the rec lounge, sat at his right and only moved his eyes. He knows it too! They all know it! He could feel the anger come boiling out. This is a stupid game!
he shouted in frustration and threw his cards on the table.
Whoa, Marshall,
Gary cautioned. Take a breath.
Yeah. Take a breath, hypo-boy,
Gene Fleming commented without looking up.
Buchanan held his gaze on Gene for just a moment. He had a fleeting thought of cutting the man’s big, round head off with his arc-knife and watching it fall to the deck. He then turned to Gary. Take a breath.
He shook his head. Yeah, I try Gary. I sit and try. I really do. But how’s a guy supposed to relax when all I get dealt is phleb every hand? Then I got this slag-faced pigasaurus,
he pointed to Fleming, on one side and that beer-belching goob,
he gestured at Theodides, "sitting on the other? The only time they change expressions is when they fart, which is all the time, he looked hard at Fleming,
or I make a stupid bet. I’ve had enough of them. I’m going to bed. I can’t wait to get off this tub tomorrow and get home."
The farts go with the air pressure in here, hypo-boy,
Fleming stated. Can’t be helped.
I’d like to help you step outside you alley-creeping, hold-dwelling…
You’ve actually been doing pretty good, Marshall,
Gary cut Buchanan off as he sat back in his chair. You’ve just got to relax more. You take what you’re dealt but you still play the game. You walk out of the game before all your chips are played and it’s just giving up. You just can’t keep doing that whenever things don’t go your way. Always finish what you start and give it your best. Then there’s no regrets.
I appreciate your help, Gary.
Buchanan could feel the care in his friend’s soothing words that he had come to appreciate. But I just can’t sit here any more tonight. After three months in here, I’m just anxious to get home. I’ll see you in the morning.
Don’t forget to brush your teeth,
Fleming again chided him. I told your momma that I would take care of her little A-D-D boy.
Buchanan turned and just stared at Gene. You are just as stupid as you look you big dumb lump of horse meat. He mentally pictured slamming the large engineer through the gravity plating in the floor and continued his pounding until the man’s head came all the way through to the outside of the ship in hyperspace. He could envision it as the skin peeled away and revealed the ape-like skull that was surely underneath. It made Buchanan smile and he did feel better.
Hit your rack, Marsh,
Gary ordered. Have all your gear ready for the shuttle by 0730.
Buchanan let the pleasant thought of Fleming’s mutilated corpse go and turned back around. He knew that Gary probably saw the look of enjoyment on his face. He touched the pressure-door release and took one last look out the viewport. That view outside is one of the few things, besides meeting Gary, that has made this trip even remotely enjoyable. He stood a moment longer watching the stars slowly move by the small viewport. Something else caught his eye for just a second but it was quickly gone. That was strange. Kind of like looking down a thin, wispy sink drain.
Suddenly the rec-room light blinked and the yellow alert light came on. Buchanan’s heart stopped and he turned to look over at Gary. Gary’s eyes widened as he dropped his cards on the table and stood up. The lights blinked again and the yellow alert light went out.
All clear!
the voice sounded over the com. It was Captain Jorgenson from the bridge. Wormhole proximity indicator sounded up here but it’s all clear now. Repeat, all clear.
Buchanan held the door release another moment as he looked back outside. Wormhole proximity warning, huh? Wow! Looked almost like just a reflection in the viewport. He turned back to Gary who smiled with relief and sat down again. Buchanan returned the smile with his own look of relief on his face. Captain said all clear
. What am I getting all worked up about? Everybody knows hyperspace is perfectly safe. And anyway, after this sleep shift, I’m home and away from these phleb-for-brains, Neandergoob mechanics. We should be coming out of hyperspace later tonight and then sub-light cruise through the inner planets should only be a few more hours. I’ll be home by this time tomorrow, having dinner with my folks and Patricia.
Buchanan left the rec-room, went on through the next bulkhead pressure door that separated the forward compartments from the aft compartments and the cargo holds and then on down the long aft corridor to the cramped, inside sub-deck he shared with eight other crewmen, Gary included.
That was the third wormhole proximity warning we’ve had on this trip, he thought to himself while washing up and brushing his teeth. I wonder what all the concern is? They say they only occur near solar systems, so we must be near home, but nobody talks much about them or even seems to know much about what they are. But they must be dangerous for all the warnings. Buchanan got out of his jumpsuit and slid into the bunk.
Lights,
he called out and his cramped little cabin went dark. The only light was the soft blue glow of the date and time indicator on his com unit next to his bunk. He lay, enjoying the soft feel of his bunk and his last night in half-grav.
It’s going to be strange adjusting to full earth gravity, he thought with a smile. He had come to appreciate the adjusted gravity plating on the star-freighter at one-half earth gravity. It made working in the confines of the ship more tolerable and was easier on the mind and body. He was delighted in how totally he could relax at night and let his active mind focus on a single subject. This had a calming effect on his somewhat hyper personality. Gary’s friendship did the rest in helping him to keep his mind focused on the job at hand and to take pleasure in his accomplishments.
Would Dad, though, ever be proud of his little boy? he thought in a moment of reflection. Dad’s been a history professor all his adult life. He never thought I would ever amount to anything because I was so hyperactive but he always pushed me to get as much education as possible anyway. The mandatory ten-year lower level education was plenty for me and I only did the extra two years to get my small equipment engineer’s rating to try to make him happy. I don’t really think it did though. My son the mechanic,
he would lament to his friends and Mother. It was those boring history lessons over and over again. I would try to think of anything else just so I wouldn’t have to sit through those boring lessons.
Buchanan sometimes amazed himself at the things he could call to mind just laying in his bunk, nearly floating in mind and body. When he focused, he could almost hear word-for-word those excruciatingly dull tales of history. He remembered one lesson in which his father was particularly excited about. How it was that, long before their time and after the United States governmental corruption and tax rebellion of the mid twenty-first century, Baja California, North and South together, had become the fifty-fourth state - after the division of California into North and South and the additions of Puerto Rico and the Democratic Nation of Cuba - of RUSANA (the Reorganized United States of North America). Mainland Mexico’s remaining twenty-nine states and one federal distric, Belize, Costa Rica, El Salvador, Guatemala, Honduras, Nicaragua, Panama, Yukon Territory, Northwest Territories, Victoria Island and Banks Island, Queen Elizabeth Island, New Brunswick, Newfoundland, British Columbia, Saskatchewan, Manitoba and Ontario were states number fifty-five through one-hundred and four. In its unique defiance of the protection and trade benefits statehood offered, Quebec steadfastly refused to join the union of states and remained a sovereign nation.
All that history hardly matters right now, he thought, shaking his head. Who needs history anyway? Just a bunch of old dead people who couldn’t possibly have any effect on my life or where I’m heading. He felt a little more relaxed now. He thought of Gary again. I sure am glad he’s on this trip. What a change he’s helped me make in my usual frustration. And, there was his sage advise on playing poker.
You’ve got to stop thinking just of yourself,
Buchanan remembered Gary telling him, and concentrate on those around you. But don’t let them know that’s what you’re doing. Watch their faces, especially their eyes, the mouth and the jaw. Look for tension. Get to know their body language and what they do with their hands and the way they sit when they have a good hand. If you know what they are feeling you will know the cards they hold.
Buchanan felt he was finally getting some control over his emotions, learning the game and, at last, making some new friends. Gary even complimented him from time to time but, tonight, things certainly changed for the worse. The real me comes out from time to time, he laughed at himself. Anyway, Gary said he would be Best Man at my wedding, if and when I ask Patricia. His thoughts then drifted to his girlfriend, Patricia MacArthur. What she sees in me I certainly don’t know but I’m glad for whatever it is. With that pleasant thought, Buchanan allowed himself to relax and drifted off to sleep.
#
How long he had been asleep before the first shudder took place he didn’t know. Buchanan opened his eyes and held his breath. Was it a real vibration or had he been dreaming? He turned his head to the com unit. Four hours to go. I must have been dreaming. He pulled the blanket to his chin and rolled over on his side. I’m just anxious to get home, he thought and tried to go back to sleep.
Another vibration.
That was no dream! he told himself, opening his eyes again. Totally awake now and alert to the slightest sound or movement, a deep feeling of impending danger swept through him. He felt his body flush and he became damp and clammy in the sheets. He lay very still and listened.
Starships in hyperdrive don’t shake or vibrate, he told himself. Much less this intensely, and never twice. If there’s really been a problem Jorgenson would sound the alarm so maybe nothing’s wrong.
Lights,
he called out, and the cubicle quickly brightened.
The instant the lights were at maximum another jolt and vibration rocked his bunk and the red ‘ALERT’ light on the communications console chimed and flashed ominously.
This is not good, he said to himself. He threw back his blanket and leapt to the padded floor. Ship status!
he demanded of the computer interface. He pulled on his sky-blue jumpsuit and quickly joined the Velcro-lined seams together from the waist to the neck.
Condition red, extreme,
the monotone, female voice of the computer replied.
Reason?
Hyperdrive unstable. Immanent loss of control.
How long?
Approximately five minutes.
He pulled on his boots. How long?
he asked again, not believing the first reply.
Approximately one minute.
Jesus H. Geronimo! I’m going to die in hyperspace!
The thought made him more mad than afraid. He quickly visualized physically pounding Captain Jorgenson, much like he did with Gene Fleming, into the gravity-plated flooring of the Captain’s luxurious command stateroom for ruining his life at so young an age.
He fought to control the panic that was quickly taking over. Starships don’t shake or vibrate in hyperspace, he reasoned again with himself. He quickly remembered the lesson from Remedial Space Theory Orientation class. There is no physical perception of travel in ships equipped with the incredibly powerful, quantum dimensional-shifting drive engines that make the great distances between star systems navigable. The stars moving slowly past the viewports are the only indication that we’re moving at all.
The only real downside to traveling in hyperspace,
he remembered his instructor saying, is that of having no contact or communication of any kind with real space and time while the hyperdrive engines are engaged and on line. The ship is totally on its own.
I may be just another low-grade Fleet Engineer, he thought, but I understand what these shocks to the main structure mean. He envisioned the large star-freighter, The William Jefferson Clinton, sixty-two years old, continually retrofitted and upgraded, breaking into pieces. This tub is going to be just a disintegrated pile of hyper-speed phleb real soon!
I wonder if all those whispered tales of starships disappearing during hyperdrive are true. They say several have done just that in the last forty years or so, ever since the development of the hyperdrive units. Buchanan’s mind was racing. Most space crews believe those are just old wives’ tales as there has never been any trace of those ships ever being found and no good reason was ever given for their disappearances. Those ships were just termed ‘lost’ or ‘missing’ and space travel has proceeded along its merry way in the, so called, ‘greater purpose of exploring and conquering the cosmos’.
The red emergency light on the console glowed steadily and the simultaneous warning chime was a constant buzz.
All personnel abandon ship,
the same monotone female voice calmly announced.
Abandon ship?
Buchanan glared unbelievingly at the com console. Abandon ship in hyperspace?
His heart jumped to his throat. Can we do that? Phleb! Less than a day away from Earth, on my first assignment on a starship, and a real emergency is going to kill me just a couple of hours before we get home!
At that instant a thunderous explosion reverberated from somewhere deep in the ship. All lighting in the cramped, little, windowless cabin blinked out for good. Now terrified, he found himself forcibly pitched against the opposite wall, striking his head and right shoulder. Pushed across the floor and then up the wall by incredible centrifugal forces, he slid on his back across the ceiling. He did not have to be on the bridge of the hypership to know that the vessel was totally out of control. He came to rest upside down against the doorway with his chin pushed into the center of his chest. He began inching his body down to the floor. Then, just as suddenly, all gravity was gone.
Gravitational generators must have gone off line! he thought to himself. At the same time he was momentarily relieved. Maybe we’ve come out of hyperspace okay. He tried to steady his body by grabbing hold of anything stable within reach as he floated in the doorway. The cabin door had somehow slipped open behind him during one of the twisting explosions and was just wide enough for him to squeeze his body through. The corridor outside the doorway was also dark except for the flashing emergency lighting.
Another explosion rang in his ears and then a continuous shudder. He held his position in the corridor and faced the direction that the emergency lighting pointed to. There was a noticeable bend in the long and normally straight corridor outside his cubicle.
No such luck! Buchanan tasted metallic adrenaline in his dry mouth and neared panic again as he pushed himself along the dark corridor toward the lifeboat station.
Buchanan was the only one in the corridor on this engineering sub-deck. He felt the walls and the decking close in around him. This was a new feeling as he had never felt claustrophobic before in his life. He shouted out for any others and pounded on other cabin doors with both fists as he passed them. There were no replies and the other doors stayed closed as he slowly pulled himself along the walkway while he was forcibly rolled around the four contoured and molded surfaces of the corridor. Gary’s door was the last one before the lifeboat station airlock. It was wide open and, from the flashing emergency lighting, he could see that the privacy niche was empty.
Maybe he already got to the life pod! he told himself in desperation and hope. Maybe he’s waiting for me there!
As he struggled on toward the emergency station, he clawed at anything that he could grab on to for movement. The ship spun in what seemed to be different attitudes as he was pushed and tossed around the floor and walls. He managed to keep a steady pace in one direction while he tried to protect his head as best he could. A few meters just ahead lay the emergency airlock and the hopeful safety of the lifeboat beyond.
Just let me get to the escape pod! he pleaded with himself as he inched along the hallway. Just to the pod!
Painful, gut-wrenching sounds of a dying starship echoed all around him. He heard groaning snaps and bending structural metals and exotic composites, bonded together for their tremendous strength, making unwilling cries of complaint as they were ripped apart and separated from each other. Muffled sounds from far away and not so muffled pounding, thudding, clanging and reverberating explosions were all around him.
Those are probably entire decks or other airtight compartment exploding or imploding into hyperspace! I don’t know which is which or, he suddenly realized with a wry bit of humor, if the difference really matters at all.
The toxic fumes from ruptured and broken conduit piping he breathed began to choke him into near unconsciousness, cloud his thinking and sting his lungs and eyes.
A bright red and white light flashed above the airlock mechanism at the entrance to the lifeboat station. He remembered how it worked from the orientation demonstration and the required-viewing video instructions on his communications console screen.
Everybody had to memorize the escape procedures but it seemed like such a joke at the time. No one really believed that anyone would ever have the opportunity to use them.
He reached up and hit the flat, round metal button with his fist and the large bulkhead pressure door slid up and open with a rush of unequal pressure.
That odd, he thought. The pressure in here should be the same as the corridor. There’s been a hull breach!
Then he understood the reason. One of the three life-pods was already gone. It must have just ejected, he thought, and there hasn’t been enough time yet to re-pressurize the deck to standard. He took one last look down the corridor just to see if anyone was behind him but saw no one through the smoke.
He then made his way to the second pod’s doorway, still attempting not to breathe too deeply. The entrance to the aft end of the second escape boat was just beyond the dark and smoky mist of the burning toxins. The rear door of the pod was the only thing visible.
He reached up and hit another square panel at the back of the pod with his fist. The multi-hinged, louvered entry door at the rear of the escape vehicle quickly slid up and out of the way. He hurled himself into the sleek, six-passenger escape vehicle. He was alone; one out of a crew of thirty-eight on the return trip from his very first interstellar supply mission. He could feel his mind succumb to the incredible gravitational forces. His vision tunneled and he almost blacked out as he, somehow, pulled himself up from the floor past the emergency storage lockers and into one of the deep-cushioned, eighteen-restraint-point seats,
Nearly exhausted, Buchanan placed his hands on the molded grips at the end of each armrest. The shoulder and head restraint then automatically lowered. This completely secured his upper body from any movement. In the next instant, the chest and leg restraints were in place and then, just as quickly, his arms were pinned into the armrests. Only his hands and fingers were somewhat free, and only enough to hold onto the ejection handles.
The instructions say, he reminded himself, to let my body relax because I’ll never know what happens next. Sure! Like I could control my body at a time like this!
Barely able to focus, he gripped the hand-contoured bars tightly, took a deep breath and flipped the safety releases with one movement of his thumbs and squeezed the jettison triggers with another movement. There was a sudden high-pitched whine from the door’s electro-pneumatic motor as it swiftly powered the door down and closed. A solid metallic locking noise came next as the door abruptly stopped and securely latched. A slight pressure change, felt in his eardrums, then took place.
This is it! he braced himself.
All illumination suddenly blinked out and complete blackness enveloped the inside of the pod as its power supply was automatically disconnected and was no longer attached to the main ship. Buchanan tightly closed his eyes. He still held his breath as he prepared for the jolt and black-out he knew would happen. As the tapered lifepod ejected itself like a bullet from a high-powered rifle and streaked away from the disintegrating starship out into the mysterious realms of hyperspace coming undone, Buchanan lost consciousness.
CHAPTER TWO
The automatic guidance and safety systems on board the escape vehicle worked perfectly as the sleek ebony and midnight blue capsule made its supersonic trajectory through the upper atmosphere. The pod decelerated above early-forming, equatorial thunderstorms as it slowly turned in a southerly direction. Flying high over the heavy, moisture laden, stratosphere-reaching cloud tops, the emergency capsule’s flight computer searched for a safe landing site for itself and its occupant. Automatic trajectory adjustments were performed as the capsule slowed to just under the speed of sound. Twin sonic booms reverberated across the vast continent some twenty miles below as if the tiny ship was sending out a pre-announcement of its impending return home. The escape vehicle made high, three hundred and sixty-degree turns in the bright late morning sky as it continued on down toward the beautiful and inviting blue, white, brown and green planet, all the while protecting its lone, unconscious passenger.
Stabilizing sensors kept the craft properly aligned for safe reentry. The planet below had already been correctly identified as Earth by the on-board database that compared gravity, size, distance from its nearest star and other various inputs that the computer matched up for orbit, reentry and touchdown. The only glitch in the process was a lack of situational awareness on the part of the computer as to exactly where it was over the planet. There were no ground stations making reply and no earth-orbiting or geosynchronous navigational satellites communicating landing instructions. Repeated automatic queries in every bandwidth were transmitted but no replies were received.
At its preset CADH (Critical Altitude Decision Height), the flight computer then made an automatic switch to its backup program. These instructions ordered it to make a sweep of the best possible landing sites directly below, pick out the most optimal for the safety of passengers, and set itself up for touchdown.
The computer’s choice was excellent as far as weather was concerned. It was a warm autumn on the southern aspect of the large continent’s west coast, about thirty-five degrees below the equator. The site selected was also right on the seashore. A beautifully clear early-afternoon sun had warmed the white beach sand as a gentle breeze blew in from the mint-green and azure-blue sea. Jabbering seagulls floated overhead as formations of pelicans cruised low above the water. Small hermit and fiddler crabs darted along the shoreline, scampering from rise to rise in the sand, staying just along the gentle tide line as they searched for their nourishment.
#
Kintoso heard the twin booms and instinctively froze at the unusual sound. Thunder always makes a rolling sound, he thought to himself as he looked to the sky. Kintabe, his older cousin and leader of the small hunting party, identified only by the three tall tail feathers of a male brown grouse in his headband, also stopped and held his position. He then gave the signal for the others to remain motionless. A moot gesture, as the others already held very still. The three lanky boys, brought along by their two older family members to learn the ancient survival art, also looked to the sky.
Kintoso shaded his eyes with his hand and was first to see the unusual object. He motioned with his spear and his older cousin also caught site of it. Almost in unison, the five males slowly stood erect and watched in superstitious awe as the sleek, glimmering object emerged from a tall thundercloud over the mountains to the east. The spearhead-like object streaked through the sky leaving a wispy vapor trail that quickly dissipated a short distance behind making the dark object that much easier to follow. Kintoso’s head turned along with the others as they followed the object across the late morning sky. It then turned in large circles overhead, descending all the while, and then gently settled down behind the hills and trees in the direction of the great salt waters.
Kintoso was first to speak. That was no star that falls from the night sky, cousin. It came down very gently near the great water.
I must see what it is,
Kintabe replied. You stay here with the boys and I will go see.
You may be leader of the hunting party, cousin, but you are not Chief yet.
Kintoso liked to challenge his older and larger cousin whenever he had the opportunity, especially in front of the boys. I will also go see what it is.
Kintoso saw the glare of anger in his older cousin’s eyes. It was a look that was meant to intimidate him. It only worked on the boys, though, as they each looked from Kintabe to Kintoso. But Kintoso had seen his larger cousin, the son of the Chief, use that angry, bullying expression many times before to get his own way. He just stared back. He could feel the warrior in himself at times like these. He too was Motanga royalty; the son of the Chief’s sister and a descendant of a proud warrior race that traced their roots back to the ancient empire of Sheba far to the east. A conquering people, the Motanga were now renowned for their hunting skills. As a tribal clan, they had lived on the grasslands and low hills near this western coastline ever since their ancestors migrated across the continent to escape warfare and famine, according to tribal lore, from the dry plains and mountains of the opposite shore many generations ago. I am a warrior too, Kintoso told himself and continued the face-off with his cousin.
All right,
Kintabe almost spat the words. But we all go together. The boys also.
That suited Kintoso as he did not like tending over boys
. Kintabe ordered everyone to take a drink from their water skins. Once they all did this, he quickly turned and began the run, using the easy loping cross-country jog that would allow them to traverse the distance to the shoreline in the shortest time possible while expending the least amount of vital energy. Kintoso brought up the rear, pushing the boys to keep up with Kintabe.
They ran for almost half an hour before reaching the shoreline. Kintoso sprinted ahead and was first to see the odd structure. He motioned the group to stop. The sun was nearly at its zenith and reflected off the beautiful object that sat in an open area on a slight rise just above the white sand of the shoreline. He then looked to a group of trees and bushes about a hundred paces from the beach where they could hide. Kintoso made the hand-sign that silently told to others to gather together with him and then ran for the cover. The others followed to the spot he pointed out and crouched together in silence for a few moments while they each caught their breath.
The gods have never before sent down a house.
Kintabe spoke first this time. He gazed intently at the reflectively dark and shiny object on the beach.
Maybe it is not a house,
Kintoso replied, still challenging the wisdom of his older and larger cousin. Who,
he asked, would want a house next to the noisy salt waters? And who would dare put one so near the shifting tidal sands?
Kintabe was quite accustom to these regular challenges to his authority by his younger cousin. Sometimes,
he explained, the gods act very strange. If they live in the sky and on the mountains, perhaps they live by the salt waters also.
The gods of the Kotuba tribe,
Kintoso, wanting to show off his knowledge of other peoples, stated, live in the steamy jungles to the north. And the gods of the N’Goli prefer to live high in the mountains to the south. This may be a new god,
he suggested, who lives by the salt waters. Our enemy, the Rowesa,
Kintoso scowled at the name and superstitiously spat on the ground, have a god who lives by the great water. This one,
Kintoso made the menacing inference, may be an enemy god who lives by the water also.
Go, cousin,
Kintabe ordered his younger relative. Ask the god why he likes to live near the undrinkable salt water.
Kintoso stared at his older cousin. He knew that Kintabe said this in order to make a test of his courage and that he probably was afraid to go himself.
And see if he has food, too,
one of the boys said.
"You are leader of our hunting party. Kintoso, in a match of wits, pointed at his larger cousin with his spear.
You go talk to him."
Leaders do not go to speak to strangers,
Kintabe said with mild arrogance and annoyance in his voice, without proper introductions. My father does not go himself to greet others he does not know. He sends his greeters first. Then he may go meet them or they may come to him.
You are not Chief yet, my cousin,
Kintoso stated this as fact and with a slight smirk on his face. "You are still just a circumcised warrior, like myself. You go and greet the strange god. And then added,
If you have the courage."
I will greet this god, cousin. And if he brings gifts,
Kintabe lifted his chin high in the air to look down on his cousin, they will be mine alone.
Kintoso and the three boys watched Kintabe as he carefully crept out from behind the trees. Slowly and methodically, as he would do stalking prey, the warrior-hunter made his way closer to the strange dwelling on the shore.
See if he’s got any food, Kintabe!
one of the boys shouted out.
Kintabe jerked his head around in time to see Kintoso grab the boy by an arm and slap him across the face. This sent the skinny juvenile flying spread-eagle backward onto the ground. The boy’s small body raised a cloud of dust as it bounced on the dry earth under the bushes and trees. The other two boys held their hands over their mouths and giggled. Kintoso smiled weakly and apologetically out through the foliage to his cousin. He knew his older cousin felt very vulnerable. Kintabe stood out in the open between the relative safety of his small hunting party hidden in the brush and the odd and conceivably menacing abode of the unknown god near the beach.
Kintoso saw the bare skin of Kintabe take on a glistening sheen from a thin layer of nervous sweat as his older cousin turned and stealthily worked his way toward the strange object in the sand.
To Kintoso, the strange house
was another two heads taller than Kintabe and about as long as four of the tall warrior’s body lengths laid end to end. It was just a little wider than two and one-half body lengths. The structure looked as if it had been carved and polished from the heavy metallic rocks they had seen on their hunting trips to the nearby hills to the east but he had never seen a single rock large enough to have carved such a thing as this.
Kintoso knew his cousin was probably thinking much the same thing; Only the gods could have shaped such a beautiful house from a stone this big.
Kintoso watched intently as Kintabe stopped about a body length away from the structure and stood very still. He saw Kintabe cock his head from side to side in order to catch any sounds from the strange object. Kintabe took a couple of steps closer and then slowly reached out with his spear to poke at the object. Nothing happened. He touched the object again and then dragged the head of his spear along the surface. Suddenly, a spray of hot air blew onto the ground and blasted sand and dirt onto the warrior’s face and body. Kintoso’s heart leapt as his larger cousin made a startled jump in the air and immediately turned around and ran back towards the safety of their gathering spot. Kintabe made a desperate long-legged leap over the bushes and squatted down alongside his little group.
This god does not like you, my cousin.
Kintoso grinned broadly and chided Kintabe. He passes wind in your face and laughs at you from behind the walls of his house.
This god is a coward who hides behind iron walls and does not come out,
Kintabe told his cousin. The look on Kintabe’s face was much the same as his intimidating glare but, to Kintoso, there was also fear in it. If,
Kintabe continued, he spits sand at us and laughs, it is to challenge the Motanga and our gods. We have to let him know we are not afraid of him.
He saw you run,
Kintoso motioned with his spear toward the object, "like the wildebeest from the hungry female lion, cousin.
