Shaman Machine the Mentor Read online

  Slapping the table, Alex said, “Ready, Joud?”

  Joud stood. “Oh yeah,” he said, grinning.

  Also standing, Alex averred to Tazo, “Thank you for coming all the way to Varun to guide me through my existential crisis.”

  “I am always happy to help you, Alex. You know I love you. By the way guys,” Tazo added, “Since I’m here, I volunteered to serve as one of the facilitators for the New Government Forum. If either of you get any ideas, please weigh in. The more who join the conversation, the better.”

  “You’re doing another service year?” Alex asked in surprise.

  “Sure, why not?” Tazo asked.

  “You’re eighty; it’s not compulsory after sixty,” Alex argued.

  “I like doing service,” Tazo said. “Anyway,” he said, waving them away, “have fun out there today.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Cady, Solomon and Kris were all up, even before the sun. They used the predawn interlude to ready themselves for the day; taking the extra time to come more fully awake before embarking on the treacherous project ahead. The first order of business would be to span the gap between the forward skis with a net. Using a winch, Cady lowered the extra wide roll of stiff netting to the top of the skis. Hanging from a ladder Kris offered advice; while Solomon did the same from a ladder on the opposing side.

  “You’re about half a meter from the top of the skis,” Kris called out, “Cady, make sure it’s centered?”

  Cady peered over the point. “Yeah, it’s ah…yeah, I think it’s pretty good. It’s a tiny bit off-center; but the net’s plenty wide; and it’s definitely overlapping both edges. There’s a little extra material on the port side,” she clarified, “That shouldn’t matter, should it, Solomon?”

  “I’m sure it’s fine,” Solomon said.

  “Okay! We’re ready!” Kris declared.

  After the winch let go, it scrolled back and Cady switched it off.

  Kris left the ladder to carefully climb onto a ski. As he looked upon the seaweed plain, he felt an urge tugging at his groin. The green color touched something deep and primal in him. He became conscious of his breath while it entered and exited his lungs. His chest swelled with a deepening desire. The need began to gnaw at him, insistently; the need to…to what? He had never laid eyes on a sight more fertile. The color was divine.

  “Ready?” Solomon asked.

  “Ready,” Kris affirmed.

  Each on their own ski, they knelt. In unison, Solomon and Kris began unrolling the net. Crawling carefully on all fours, they pushed the fabric forward. Arriving to the first tie-down, Kris took hold of a good size wad of the cloth and wired it to the tie-down. Speaking to Solomon, he said, “Be sure and get a good hunk, so it doesn’t tear.”

  “This stuff won’t tear,” Solomon said, “it’s some very strong stuff, but sure, I hear you.”

  Solomon secured his side of the net while Kris looked at the vibrant green weed where it pressed against the ski near his knee.

  “Okay, got it,” Solomon said.

  They pushed the roll to the next set of tie-downs. On securing his side of the net, waiting for Solomon to finish; Kris leaned over the outer edge of the ski, just past the net, to touch the top of the weed with the flat of his hand. It felt as firm to the touch as it looked. Could anything be more solid, he wondered?

  “Be careful, Kris,” Cady called from the bow.

  “It’s really solid,” Kris said.

  “It’s just solid enough to drown someone. Please be careful,” she urged.

  “Okay, ready for the next one,” Solomon said.

  They rolled the net to a third set of tie-downs. This time when Kris finished, he turned sideways and dropped his feet off the edge of the ski. Butt planted, he tested the firmness of the weed with the soles of his feet.

  “What are you doing?” Cady shouted with alarm.

  “Don’t lose your mind, Cady. I’m just checking it out,” Kris quarreled.

  “N-e-e-ext!” Solomon prodded.

  While waiting for Solomon to do the fourth tie-down, Kris tested one knee against the firmness of the weed. Abruptly, Kris felt himself shoved with a surprising force that wrenched him up and away from his intention. His back bounced against the surface of the net, and Cady's strong arms were wrapped around him. Having landed with her on top, he began to struggle. Ferociously, he fought to free his arms, that were pinioned to his body by Cady. Kris cried in frustration at having his will so abruptly subverted.

  Solomon stared at the inexplicable battle between Cady and Kris. Insanely, Kris began to drag himself toward the edge of the net while Cady held stubbornly to his hips. Confused, yet recognizing the danger, Solomon leaped into the fray. Together, Solomon and Cady overpowered Kris. They dragged him kicking and screaming, all the way to the boats foredeck where they lashed him to a stanchion. They tried to calm him; but were unsuccessful. The force of his fury was startling. Sharing fearful confused looks between them, Solomon and Cady finally abandoned him, tied-up, crazy and pleading. Without him, they finished securing the net. Because Kris continued to be irrational, they proceeded to harvesting the weed without him.

  Unable to see the weed from where he was lashed, Kris began to recapture his reason. By modulating his breath, he eventually calmed himself. After that, he felt deeply ashamed. He was embarrassed to admit even to himself that Cady and Solomon had been correct to bind him safely out of harm’s reach. Even now, he sensed he could not be trusted. As if bewitched, he continued to fantasize about planting his feet squarely onto the green. Logically, he knew…yes he did…he knew that if he were to attempt to stand on it, he would plunge straight through the surface, never to be seen again. Logically, he could sort this out; but deep inside, there was a hunger. With the hunger gnawing at his gut, he knew that he would almost certainly succumb to his urges, if set free.

  That night Solomon dragged a sleeping pad to the deck. Kris spent the night with one wrist lashed to the stanchion while the other was lashed to Solomon. On the following day, he was, again, trussed alone to the stanchion. Forlorn and feeling disgraced, Kris bravely attempted to view his bondage as a type of nurturance. As for Cady and Solomon, they got after the harvest with due haste.

  CHAPTER 25

  At the waterfront, Joud was utterly enraptured by the scene. He liked that the hydroliners were parked in uneven rows. He was impressed by the intelligent coordination that resulted in strips of beach intentionally left open to allow access to the shore. He was impressed by the mind boggling length of the h-liners skis. On noticing a hydroliner circumnavigating from a particularly dense pocket, Joud trotted closer, in a bid to witness the marvelous maneuverings of the ungainly beast. Alex displayed an uncharacteristic patience as Joud dragged him hither and thither on a circuitous route.

  The morning air throbbed with laughter, curses and foreign activities. Nudity was the rule. Typically the seasteaders, male and female alike, were utterly shorn of hair from head to foot. Showing an uncharacteristic discretion, Alex kept his voice lowered while he and Joud made a game out of guessing at time accrued on planet by the various groups. They agreed that those with the best kept boats, and most ragged clothes must surely be the long-timers. They were similarly inclined to credit longevity to the ones with the tight muscled broad shoulders of swimmers.

  When Joud and Alex arrived, I was on deck, balancing a large black object on the flat of my palms. As they hustled up the middeck ladder, Alex called out, “Big day today, Chance-bot.”

  “So I understand, Alex. As per your request, I’ve been unpacking and assembling.” Turning my attention to Joud, I said, “I put the spear guns on the aft deck, Joud. You’ll find them already separated out from the other fishing gear.” His eyes flaring wide in obvious delight, Joud spun away.

  “You’ll see,” Alex shouted after Joud's departing back, “A spear gun is a game changer.” Turning to me, he asked, “What is that you are working on, bot?”

  Nodding at the object, I sai
d, “This is a central nervous system for the hoist-and-haul. It requires assembly.”

  “Oh, I want to help you with that!” he said, “Where's the rest of it?”

  I led Alex to a pile of parts, and set down the nervous system, alongside a brassy pair of birdlike feet and legs. Analyzing the feet, Alex reached down and brushed his index finger along the length of an inanimate toe, part of the 'grip-and-go' mobility system.

  “We need to take it down to the beach to assemble it,” I explained to him.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Alex countered, “We already have everything right here.”

  “I have downloaded the instructions---” I informed him, as I attempted to clarify the necessity.

  “Instructions!” Alex ridiculed. “That takes all the fun out of it.”

  “But, Alex---” I tried.

  Throwing up a palm, Alex demanded, “Stand back! I can do this.”

  I complied per his request.

  He scrutinized the parts. “There are only five major pieces.”

  “The order of assembly is critical,” I cautioned.

  “Shush! Don’t give me any clues, Mr. I’ve Downloaded the Instructions.” Alex squatted and proceeded by touching all the parts. “This is quite a beautiful piece of equipment,” he mused.

  In surrender, I retreated. And in anticipation of the ensuing chaos, I began to relocate the piles of gear I calculated to be the more critically endangered. Meanwhile, Alex pulled the black disk that was the central nervous system close. He examined the connectors on one side then flipped it to examine the connectors on the opposite side. Next he up a large metallic gear box, and examined the connection points on it, as well.

  “This is going to be almost too easy, Chance-bot,” Alex declared, “The connectors have matching symbols. All I have to do is line them up and snap them into place.”

  Again, I attempted to warn him. “Alex,” I said, “the unit will---”

  “Shush, I say.” Holding up a palm, he fended off my words. Snapping the gear into place, he added, “It’s scarcely a challenge as it is, Chance. Leave me to my fun.”

  Assessing the piles of equipment, I zeroed my focus into clearing a suitable circumference around Alex and his project. I adapted my ergonomics to emergency response levels.

  Fortunately Alex slowed his own process by admiring each component. He picked up the rod and examined it next. “This is a beautifully designed piece,” Alex murmured, “I would call this functionally ornate.” Glancing up, he added, “Danel would love it.” Alex snapped the thick end of the taper onto the gear box. “And this. This is truly a thing of beauty,” Alex said admiringly, as he grabbed up the gripper. Turning the piece in his hands, Alex lovingly examined the detail. “You know, Chance-bot...or maybe you don’t,” he said grinning at me, “I almost went into archeology because I absolutely adore artifacts. This piece looks downright pre-Columbian.”

  “Why did you decide against archeology?” I asked, while continuing to work.

  “I discovered pretty quickly, I don’t have the right disposition to be an archeologist,” Alex explained, “Archeology is too slow. It’s very methodical. Quite honestly, I found dusting off artifacts with a little tiny broom to be unbearably boring. After completing a few courses, I decided my impatience outsized my interest. On the other hand, anthropology was something I could dive right into, so to speak,” he said grinning, “Full immersion is more my style.” Alex stood up from a kneeling position. So far, the hoist-and-haul was approximately one meter tall. Stepping to the small end of the rod, Alex snapped the gripper into place. Pausing for a few beats, he stood there admiring his handiwork while I continued to move as efficiently as I reasonably could without injuring anything. “Very pre-Columbian,” Alex repeated.

  The legs and feet for the hoist-and-haul were a single unit already assembled. Like an accordion, they were folded to a compact involution. The ornate toes were spread wide to lend stability to the corrugated calves and thighs. The top of the thighs were already attached to a shallow platform designed to seat the upper half of the device. Alex lifted the section he’d already assembled. Evidently, it was not in the least heavy, as he tilted it sideways to examine the connectors. Placing it atop the platform, he shift and twist it; until it clicked. Immediately a light pulsed from the center of the newly assembled contraption.

  “Alex!” I cried when he bent close to grope along the edges.

  “Stop! I’m almost done,” Alex admonished, “I’m looking for the switch.”

  The warning light switched itself off. The hoist-and-haul sprang to a standing position. The sudden movement knocked Alex back. Tripping over his feet, he dropped to the deck, in a tangle of his own body. The two and a half meters tall hoist nearly trampling him when it stepped forward. Alex was scrabbling away from the danger when of its own accord, the hoist stepped away from him. As if performing a dance, the hoist stepped next to one side and back again. The hoist performed a graceful pirouette.

  Alex laughed. Bounding to his feet, he cackled, “What were trying to tell me bot?”

  “When the mobility system is attached, the unit self-actuates. Proper clearance must be furnished,” I answered.

  The hoist-and-haul planted its feet. It became a three and a half meter tall giant by telescoping its rod-shaped body straight up into the air.

  “Impressive,” Alex said, now watching with hip canted and arms casually crossed. The gripper, mounted at the top of the rod, rotated then stopped.

  “Alex, look out!” I cried, too late.

  When the gripper flew straight at Alex, he showed an impressive dexterity for a man of his age. Alex dove. If not for the net, he might have succeeded without incident. But the net did snag him; and only by performing a complex flip followed by a roll did Alex land safely in a squat. A trail of netting marked his trajectory, ending in a coil around one ankle. He laughed so hard, he cried.

  “If you’d had your way, bot, I would have missed out on all of this,” Alex joked. Perhaps it was my confused expression that sent him to another fit of laughing.

  A running Joud came sliding into view from around a corner. “What’s going on!” he shouted, just as the gripper went shooting out in a new direction, this time skimming through empty air.

  Ignoring Joud, Alex asked me, “How many times will it do that?”

  “Total of three, conducting 120 degree turns,” I responded.

  “Oh, shit! Joud!” Alex shouted; but I was already sweeping Joud up via his hips to safely deliver him clear from the final lunge of the gripper. With a smack to the cabin wall, the hoist-and-haul completed the cycle of initiation.

  CHAPTER 26

  Flanked by Alex, Joud sat in the captain chair. After maneuvering free of the neighboring encampments, they arrived near to the water’s edge without mishap. On multi-track wheels, the boat trundled over the final stretch of beach, while the skis flounced useless above the sand. Nearly breathless with anticipation, Joud aimed the skis straight at the line of breaking waves. The skis pierced the wall of water. Joud gasped in a sudden breath when the lumbering craft slipped into a smooth straight glide. Friction ceased to exist. In that moment, Joud experienced a sort of vertigo. He was an unmoving point with the world spinning past. Then as if catching up to himself, he became once again aware of his body, and of gravity, and of momentum, and of forward movement. He felt the weight of the moist air on his skin. He could smell the pungent smell of brine. Joud roared out a laugh, and looking to his side, he saw that Alex too was laughing.

  “Alex, today we begin our lives as seasteaders,” Joud announced, sounding strangely formal even to his own ears.

  More softly now, Alex chuckled. “Sure it’s a pretty fine day,” he agreed.

  The trip across the Bay of Dreams was surprisingly quick. Or so it seemed to Joud. Under Alex' careful eye, he set the trolling valves to hold their position by the reef. Finally, Joud lowered the body of the boat down to the skis until the water was almost lapping at the be
lly.

  “Yes!” Joud whooped.

  Alex hooted his own baritone of delight. Slapping Joud’s back, he said, “Well done!”

  I watched from the stern when, for the third time that day, Joud followed Alex into the sea. This time they took their spear guns. Each time at their leaving, they instructed to assume the role of acting captain. When the pair dropped out of sight, I abandoned the stern to walk the perimeter deck. At the main deck, I performed a visual scan of piled equipment. Again, I tested their bindings. I made three full circuits before going astern to take up position beside the hoist-and-haul. Confident their hunt would be a success, the men had directed me to oversee retrieval of the fish-bag. By the time the hoist cried out with the request to give chase, I’d been standing in the exact same position for nearly forty minutes, my fingers loosely circling the handrail. Using a comm-link, I remotely authorized the hydroliner to pursue the fish-bag.

  When the craft smoothly decelerated, I scanned the water. The bag was floating neatly between the skis. The target was bobbing closer, and was basically within reach. Without prompting, the hoist-and-haul flung its grabber, snatched the fish-bag, and began reeling it in. Owning the desired prize, the hoist relaxed the grip of its birdie feet. With a hop, it abandoned the perch for the deck.

  I led the hoist into the freezer. After removing the beacon from the bag, I pointed to a high empty shelf. I was impressed by the dexterous elegance displayed by the hoist-and-hall when it rose up on telescoping legs, to gracefully deposit the fish bag. After shrinking back, the hoist grew still to await further clues. With the fish safely stored, I stepped from the refrigeration unit. The hoist-and-hall shadowed me. I secured the freezer portal then led the compliant hoist aft; where it reclaimed its perch, and froze back to inactivity.

  Finally, Joud and Alex came surging up from the silver sea. I watched them swim, arm over arm. Jostling playfully, they rose up the middeck ladder to land dripping on the deck, Joud followed by Alex. The banter of their voices marked their journey to all the way back to their private quarters. Awaiting fresh instructions, I continued my loiter at the stern. The chop slapped the skis along their length, that were set parallel with the invisible reef. Investigating the unfamiliar water world, I noted that inside the reef, the waves were cropped short; whereas outside the reef, the waves furled in long deep troughs, before merging into a distance that appeared to end at a long curve of horizon. I scrutinized the place where open water met contained water.