The Wilderness of Self-Reliance

Dawn.  The mysterious blue hue saturated all the colors of the wilderness landscape. Encompassed by steep rugged slopes, the high bluff provided an advantage for tired eyes.  The panorama was magnificent.

Morning, crisp and cold, brought with it the heavy scent of pine and dew.  The birds were the first to stir—a grouse fluttered its wings somewhere in the brush. A hawk, in the atmosphere above, screeched—its lonesome discourse echoing along the canyon walls.

Jan awoke to the whining cries of the coyotes on the mesa opposite his camp.  They could smell the smoke from his small fire and were curious.  He watched them for a moment.  They did not seem curious enough to permit him the opportunity to make of them his winter coat.

He rose up perched above the encampment, his small tree house offering basic protection against the population of predators, and climbed down the larger of the two trees between which he had suspended the platform.  Jan stoked his campfire, still aglow with waning embers, and began to brew a hot wild mint tea.  The activity stirred his flesh with a rising tide of ambition.  The campfire glow warmed the front of him, the heat caressing his nostrils and eyelids as he filled his mug.  It took him nearly an hour to finish his tea and, when he was done, he turned from his musing, set his mug down on a nearby tree stump, and picked up his axe.  “Time to work!”  He said to himself.

It was early summer and he wanted the time to build a cabin to his liking.  He thought of the spring behind his camp site.  In his mind he played with the vision of himself behind a crude potter's wheel making tile pipes from the blue clay of the valley floor.  “Yes,” he thought, “running water, a bath, and a cooking stove!”

This was the place to which he had run.  He thought to make a life for himself in this rocky, unforgiving, isolated place.  The collapse of civilization outside his wilderness domain had taught him an important lesson: self-reliance.  He understood his perspective.  His antique ideals resisted the advance of contemporary society: a progress with a vengeance in which the mountebanks of his culture constantly opposed logic.

His world had become an unhappy place where men and women labored beneath the never-ending turmoil of capital exploitation expending all their energy and resources on an ever-expanding common indebtedness that clung to everyone like some unpleasant pest.  The goods were designed to assume uselessness.  The food, saturated with a plethora of compounds, was intended to impersonate a natural process with which the masses had, long ago, become unfamiliar. The concept of the individual's personal contribution to society had gradually dwindled into insignificance within the collective attitude.  People plodded along, daily completing their chores, reverently watching over their few remaining material possessions, and bitterly contemplating the prospect of a better life in the hereafter.

Jan was not one of them.  Their resignation disgusted him and he felt no sympathy for their dilemma. People were content to abandon their humanity while single-minded technocrats reduced the whole of a living planet to symbols on a sheet of paper.  The ruling elite had mastered the art of communicating through the medium of the image.  Here, in this god-forsaken mining colony, the public was force-fed pictures of impassioned patriotism, religious fervor, unlimited opportunity, and immeasurable wealth. Morality was perceived as something familiar.

The common man smiled and laughed the laugh of an imbecile.  They ate their synthetic food and did a little dirty dancing.  Plague after plague had decimated the global population so there was plenty of everything (that nobody wanted or really needed) to go around.  Humans clung to the few remaining population centers like fleas on a ragged old blanket. Nobody complained.  The resolute warnings of a concerned minority annoyed them. “These ideologues ought not to be so gloomy,” their leaders asserted, “there is always the power of positive thinking.”  But Jan, and a few others like him, could see that there was no longer any power in ordinary reason.  Cutter had been right all along and where was he now?

Inside the mean cities a storm of destruction ensued. The Nistasi were on the move—wreaking havoc with their primitive terror.  Then there were the religious zealots!  They murdered innocent people for no other reason than to experience the thrill of having human blood smeared on their bodies.  They had no purpose—no creed.  Their motivation was nothing more than the exhilaration that their compulsion provided them.  And, the governing elite had allowed this to happen—they quietly encouraged it behind the facade of their civilized demeanor.  Constant fear kept the population under control, effectively, inexpensively—comparatively speaking.  Social concepts had always been imperfect, true, but now Civilization, riddled with evil and human suffering on so extreme a level, carried mankind ever farther away from the fulcrum of the human community.  Humanity was being propelled toward those ancient origins in which human flesh was slaughtered and consumed to fuel the cosmic engine.

He swung his axe.  He felt very lonely here.  But then, he had a good chance of living past thirty.  The other side of the reality he knew was terrifying enough for him to abandon his kind and take his chances with Creation.

Jan decided to build his cabin into the slope of a heavily forested hillside.  The huge spruce pines would shelter him from mountain winds and hide his location. Since finding this place, he had seen no other people--not the Kree who populated small areas in the territories to the southwest of him—not even military patrols from Ganymede and they wouldn't have bothered him in any case.  The regional governments had come to appreciate the Loners as men like Jan were called.  They would always try to persuade you to take a two-way radio.  Loners were useful as eyes and ears along the frontier.  It made the Military’s job somewhat easier. But Jan didn't even want to keep that connection.  Of course, he wouldn't refuse if they stumbled upon him—he couldn't refuse! They had weapons.  He could always move to a new location but he couldn't spend the rest of his life breaking his backside building mountain hideaways now, could he?

He finished sizing the log.  Later after he had rough-hewn the log into the appropriate dimensions, he would position it with block and tackle.  Jan disciplined himself to do one thing at a time. Naturally, the flat stone foundation and sandstone floor had come first.  He cut and prepared one log at a time.  They were small logs--about six to eight inches in diameter and perhaps eight to twelve feet long.  He couldn't handle anything larger than that.  In two months of work, he had completed the walls and had most of the roof timbers in place.  The cabin was about forty feet long, by twenty feet deep, by nine feet high.  He had put a steeply sloping roof on it that extended out past the front of the structure about eight feet—his front porch. He hadn't built the floor of the porch yet.

The cabin wasn't a traditional rectangle.  Its final shape was the result of Jan navigating the foundation around a stone ledge that was the entrance to a small cave. He thought the cave perfect for storing provisions.  A small spring-fed stream kept the ambient temperature of an adjoining grotto at about forty degrees and provided fresh water in any season.  It was a dry place, having a small exit in its rear wall into which Jan had built a heavy wooden door that swung on hardwood hinges.  He kept the grotto isolated from the main cavern with a large slab of sandstone.  It was about four inches thick and about five feet in diameter. He could roll it along a channel he had cut into the cavern's sandstone floor and cover the grotto's entrance.

There was a natural chimney on the northwest wall terminating on the cavern dome in a hole about sixteen inches in diameter.  Jan had built the fireplace of the cabin and a few feet of flat stone chimney into this natural feature.  Later, he intended to build a clay lined flue, alongside the massive masonry, to accommodate his cooking stove.  Several tasks remained if he was to realize his dream by fall when the snow came.  The walls needed chinking.  The windows and doors needed to be installed.  The roof needed to be thatched and the stone chimney needed to be finished.  He also thought it would be a good idea to build a sheltered walkway out to his sturdy little out-house.  The snows of winter were deep in this part of the territory.

In one corner of the cabin a huge sandstone boulder lay.  It had fallen away from its place in the side of the cave entrance and had landed where it now rested weathered side down.  The huge rock had a deep concave shape on the “up” side.  At first Jan was depressed.  The thing had taken up about ten square feet of the floor space and was too big for him to move by himself.  He went on about his work for several weeks before he got the idea that, properly configured, the thick slab of sandstone would make an ideal bath tub!  He dug beneath one end and, with his mallet and chisel, carved a round hole into the stone to which he connected home-made clay pipe.  It had taken him a week just to make enough of the pipe to complete the drain's exit from the cabin floor.  Jan used crudely manufactured limestone slurry to set the pipe in place beneath the bolder.  It dried hard enough to seal the tile joints.  He then filled in the floor around the stone again.  His bath tub tested perfectly!  A wooden plug tied to a length of old rope kept the water in.  When he removed the plug, the water burst from the end of the pipe filling in the hole where he had intended to build a dry well.

Jan's thoughts often dwelled on designs that would allow him to have running water from the cave's small stream.  But he felt that he had lost enough time fooling around with his bath tub and thought it more prudent to tinker with this problem later—once the shelter was completed.  For now he would focus his attention on the job of completing the roof.

In his daily routine, Jan would gather a stiff brown grass from the alpine meadows just below his location.  It looked like Johnson's Grass to him and he harvested it easily, tying it into sheaves that he would carry home after hunting or fishing. The sheaves were stored in the cave where they remained dry.  The roof of his modest home was a single slope that just fit beneath the rock ledge of the hillside above the cave entrance.  He had placed the roof rafters into pockets he had carved into a narrow layer of soft limestone.  The cabin faced east and its northeast wall was sheltered by hillside and forest.  If the roof were properly thatched, Jan would have no problems with blowing wind, rain, or snow.

He had spent months in the public library in Sentia researching traditional crafts.  The effort served him well.  It was the only valuable information he had been able to glean from a crumbling society. He had stolen an old set of technical books, wrapped them in plastic, and lugged them all the way out here to this remote place along with all the old tools and his camping gear.  The preparatory phase of this project had taken him almost two years.  A year to figure it all out and come up with a plan, a year to lug everything he thought he would need out to the site in backpacks.  On his last trip he ditched his worn out old trike in the desert and climbed the west face of the southern range for the last time.

He had the good fortune of having a twenty millimeter rocket launcher—called an RL and a nine millimeter pulse rifle along with ample ammunition.  The weapons were ancient but easy enough to buy on the black market.  He used them sparingly.  Jan taught himself how to hunt with a bow and arrow and to fish with either a net or a pole.  He brought with him a good hunting knife and a machete and, over the months, they had taken on the uniform look of continued use.

The wild animals stayed well away from him though and he had difficulty hunting elk or deer.  Yet, he seemed to be doing alright on a diet of fowl, fish, and wild greens. Whenever he managed to get meat, he dried it in the sun as jerky and stored it in sacks hung from stalactites on the grotto dome.  The only animal he feared was the mollith—a bear-like creature that could weigh as much as a ton and often stood nine feet at the shoulders.  They were an indigenous species and even with the destructive hunt-downs of the last century, there were still a few of them left. Once on a hunting expedition in the mountain ranges to the northwest, he saw a big mollith bring down an elk, stone dead, in less than five minutes!  Those animals that had been introduced by the early explorers to provide food and clothing were really no match against any of the native predators. He had waited, hiding in the tree line upwind from the mollith a whole day before the vicious thing left following the scent of something.  Then he scrambled down to the river's edge to carve a knapsack full of meat from what was left of the carcass.  It was the easiest meal he had ever taken from the mountains.  Had the mollith returned too soon . . . he shuddered just to think of those huge jaws!

His work had taken him into afternoon.  Jan didn't feel like cooking so he nourished himself on some jerky and wild greens.  The mint tea had been sitting by the fire all afternoon and was too strong for him now. He quenched his thirst with cool spring water.  Jan had just one more rafter to put in place and then he'd be able to tie down the tree bark roofing tiles he had meticulously fashioned.  Over these he intended to build a tightly thatched roof. “That'll keep the weather out!” He thought.  The eves were woven of branches anchored to both the wall and the roof rafter at each end.  He would plaster them with a ground limestone stucco to complete the roof's weather-proofing.

He reminded himself.  He took up his RL and loaded it.  It would only be used if he happened upon a mollith, or saber-toothed towna, or . . . “Let's get going here fella!”  He told himself.  Jan donned his shoulder rack, and bow and quiver and plodded off down the narrow trail to the sandstone bridge that led to the valley floor.  Above him a deep blue afternoon sky and summer sun cheered his spirit and a mountainous panorama thrilled his senses.  He was making it on his own and he was very, very pleased with himself!  Crisp mountain air filled his lungs.  He felt happy and let out a thundering “Ha!” that echoed along the canyon walls. “What a life I've made for myself!” He shouted into the endless wilderness. Jan would return to his mountain home at dusk; just in time to see the setting sun color the world around him with a crimson sigh.  Then he'd curl up in his hammock strung between the two towering pines while the moon and the stars dazzled his senses filling his soul with a calm that would then put him fast asleep.

Jan had been climbing the pass for the better part of an hour now.  To his left, a clear mountain brook roared down upon jagged rocks and over a precipice to the canyon below.  Just over the break above him was a narrow cleft in the mountainside that led to a small alpine valley in the center of which there was a beautiful lake—the source of the stream.  Tall pines grew dense along the hillsides.  Aspen, their buds just now pregnant with life, forested the southwestern approaches.  In the marshes along the eastern extreme, water fowl rested from their flight north to their nesting grounds.  They would visit this place as they journeyed south in the fall.  The air was fresh and full of the smells of the wilderness—damp earth and pristine water spray mingled with the scent of pine.  There was a breeze among the tall branches—a constant murmuring that kept him company.

The lake was full of trout too and it was from this source that he was able to obtain most of his provisions.  He didn't think that there would be any Elk up this high so early in summer.  Predators and prey alike would, most likely, still be on the canyon floor below right now. He also hoped that the great molliths were down there with the rest of Creation.

Patches of snow still lay along the meadows on the south side of the valley that faced north.  It would stay cool up here for at least two more weeks.  At this time of the year it was dangerous.  Melting snow and ice would collapse in upon itself and come thundering down the mountainside in a spectacular but deadly avalanche killing anything that lay within its path.

As he began his descent along the downward side of the trail, he heard the tell-tale “clap and thunder” of an avalanche in the distance. Jan shook his head and was glad to have been at the safer end of the valley.  He took in the view again.  About a mile down along the lake shore he saw large animals at the water's edge. “Elk!”  He thought.  He pulled his binoculars from his waist pouch and examined his sighting in more detail. “Yup . . . that's Elk all right! Wonder what they're doin' up here so early?”  He mused aloud.  He trained his field of view on the lake itself.  There were a few geese on the shore line.  “Slow-pokes,” he said to himself.

Jan put his binoculars away and continued on.  He had come here for a few fish.  The trout were a decent size here; their species had been introduced during the millennia before as settlers terraformed the planet to suit the needs of the colonists.  Up at this elevation they usually grew to about eighteen inches long. He would pick some wild greens from the canyon floor on his way home.  He approached the western shoreline of the lake.  The geese eyed him cautiously.  They took on additional distance from him honking nervously as they waddled east along a small spit of graveled shoreline.  Jan stopped by an old fallen pine; it was a huge tree. Some of its bulk was still alive and new branches sprouted from its mangled stump sprawled along the southern side of a rocky outcrop that jutted out into the water a few yards or so. Jan climbed the edifice to its flat top and looked around him—first down at the huge stump and giant weathered tree that had fallen down along the lakeshore, then up along the opposite side of the lake.

            He wouldn't use his net today.  He removed his fishing gear from its long pouch and put his pole together. Threading the line from the reel through the pole eyelets, he tied a hook and lure to the end.  He cast his line.  Not a few seconds later he had hooked a good-sized fish.  “Hungry little bastards!”  He said astonished at the quick catch.  Jan reeled the fish in.  It was a good-sized rainbow trout.  As he eyed his catch, he thought how, originally, they had been introduced to the region as were the familiar brown trout and he remembered reading somewhere about a stocking program in days gone by.

            Jan caught a second fish and then a third.  “That's enough for now.”  He told himself.  He looked down toward the eastern end of the valley again.  The Elk had vanished.  Just a ways past the first turn of the eastern pass he saw the snow from the avalanche had piled up against the North Slope to a height of about twenty feet.

            “Gees,” he thought, “lucky thing I wasn't standing there!”  And then he noticed a dark spot just above the ground at the edge of the field of snow.  He tried to focus.  Jan removed his binoculars again and, peering through them, made out the outline of a man! He appeared to be trapped at the waist! Jan studied the area to make sure of what he had discovered.

“Yes, it's a man!”  He said.  From his vantage point he could make out the forest green and camo of a military uniform. A paratrooper's round padded helmet prevented Jan from making out the man's features.  He hurriedly packed the fish he had caught in his basket and broke down his fishing gear placing it back in its carrying pouch.  He swung his RL from his shoulder and jumped down off the great rock to run down the lake's shore toward the eastern pass about a mile away.

He kept his eyes trained on the site where the man was trapped and thought he saw the poor fellow move a couple of times.  “I wonder if he's a colonial trooper or a mercenary.” He asked himself.  Jan just felt a pressing need to get there and help him if he could.

Minutes later he was close enough to see that, yes, it was a soldier—a Mountaineer by the look of his gear and uniform.  And, his shoulder patch bore the emblem of the Republic of Gannemead.  He was struggling to pull himself from the huge chunks of snow that pressed tightly against him.  Had he been able to go a few more steps he would have completely missed the western edge of the avalanche.

He was in up to his rib cage struggling to get free. Then he stopped and fell back against the snow, staring into the sky holding his helmeted head with gloved hands. “Oh shit!”  He said.  “I don't want to go this way!”

“Now wait just a minute.”  Jan said calmly.  “Who says you're going to go anywhere much less die?”  The soldier strained his neck to look as he was lying on his back.

“Help me mister, please—I give you my word:  I'll owe you one!”  Jan jogged toward him, came to a stop and knelt down beside him. Jan unhooked his camping spade from his waist belt and began to dig.  The snow was hard but chunks gave way to the point of the spade.

“Don't want to cut you--be patient.”  Jan instructed the soldier.  The soldier seemed exhausted from his struggle.  Even after Jan had cleared enough snow to free his legs, the poor fellow needed help to get free of the snow.  He pulled him away from the snow and onto the gravel of the shoreline.

“Let's see if anything is broken.”  Jan cautioned him.  The soldier shook his head “no” and began to try to catch his breath.

“My squad!”  The soldier said, pointing to the area just behind the place where he had been trapped.  Jan turned to see a gloved hand protruding from the surface.

“Holy shit!”  Jan shouted and jumped up, racing toward the spot to begin feverishly digging again.  About an arm's length into the snow he found the other soldier's helmet.  He worked quickly to widen the hole and free the body of the soldier beneath him.

He finally cleared enough debris to allow an attempt at pulling the soldier out by his arms.  The limp body began to slide out and then broke loose in a sudden motion knocking Jan onto his backside.  Jan struggled to get up and pulled the second soldier to a place beside the first.

“Milo, Milo!”  The first soldier cried out.  The second soldier just moaned.  Jan covered the man with the bedroll strapped to his backpack.  The soldier rolled his eyes, breathing heavily.  His insulated coveralls had worked to keep his body temperature stable but he too seemed exhausted.  Jan searched the debris for signs of life—nothing.

“How far back were the rest of them?”  Jan cried out to the soldiers.

“About twenty yards.”  The first soldier responded.

Jan climbed the slope of the avalanche's edge. “About twenty yards.”  He repeated in a small voice.  He continued climbing back along the top of the rubble.  There, just about twenty yards from the edge, a huge angular boulder lay against the opposite side of the narrow pass. Beneath the boulder three pairs of legs lay exposed, soaked in blood.

His first reaction was to retch but he brought himself under control.  He climbed down from his position and walked back to the two soldiers.  The second soldier was sitting up.

“Three people?”  Jan asked them.  The first soldier nodded “yes.”  Jan looked away toward the western slopes.

“Well, they're dead now.”  He said in a gentle voice.  The soldier dropped his head.  Jan knelt beside him.

“Look,” he continued, “you guys have lost some body temperature.  You're friend, here, doesn't look too good.  We have to build a fire and warm you two up--understand?”

Jan noticed the single bar of a lieutenant on the soldier's collar.  “Lieutenant?” He asked trying to get some kind of response from the man.  The soldier peered up at Jan from beneath the brim of his helmet and nodded affirmatively. There were tears in his eyes.

Jan knew they all would need some shelter.  He gathered fallen branches and used his camping axe to trim them working steadily to build a lean-to in which the three men could spend the night sheltered against the wind.  After a time, Jan had built a roaring fire and had constructed the lean-to in such a fashion facing the fire that it captured the fire’s warmth quite efficiently.  The second soldier had recovered now.  Jan had wrapped them in their blankets and ponchos and instructed them both to warm themselves before the huge fire that he had built.  He had staked out his fish on spits and had his small teapot brewing mint tea beside the fire.  He could see that they were inexperienced—greenhorns—and, why were they up here in the mountains?

“We'll eat directly, gentlemen.”  Jan reassured them.

The Lieutenant gave his name as Jack Ranford and the other fellow was his Sergeant, Fred Milo.  “You saved our asses,” Ranford said, “We owe you mister.”

Jan looked back at them.  “Relax, Lieutenant . . . but it sure was a lucky thing that I had decided to come here to fish today.  What were you and your people doin' in the eastern pass anyway?”  Jan inquired ready for the usual need-to-know lecture.

“Tracking bio-smugglers.”  The Lieutenant answered.  “Chopper went down about six miles northeast of here.  They must have gotten through.”  Ranford pulled the blanket around him a little tighter. “Did you see anyone on your way up?”

Jan shook his head.  “No but just below the western pass the trail breaks out into a half-dozen directions.  They might have chosen one of the others that lead down into Black Bear's Hollow.  I don't live there, guys, and I don't like to frequent the place either.”

“Why not?”  Milo inquired.

“The Kree don't like you brassin' your way around their homelands.”  Jan returned. “They evolved to become the only sentient species native to the planet, you know.  At least, that’s what some scientists think.” 

“Oh…”  The Sergeant said understanding the meaning of what Jan had said.  The Kree were a strange lot indigenous to this planet but were small in numbers.  They were a humanoid-like species, intelligent but caught up in their own stone age.  After the Colonial Government had finally collapsed eight centuries before, humans had withdrawn into their towns and villages.  The Kree remained in the wilderness a nomadic people who lived off the land according to their ancestral ways and aboriginal life style.  Having been persecuted in the past they weren't too friendly to humans.  Jan was a big Lakota—a race of humans that had once lived on Earth, the legendary home of all human beings.  He had met a few of them while hunting.  They tolerated him because they sensed he was wild like their own kind but they always kept their distance.

“Maybe they'll take care of our work for us.” Ranford remarked.

“Oh yeah . . . they sure will!”  Jan assured him as he tied the last support in place.  “There ya’ go, boys, home sweet home!”

“You guys from Cutter’s Claim are you?”  Jan asked.

 “No…we’ve been assigned to the settlement as part of the program to assimilate the colony back into the Old Republic.”  Ranford replied.

“I won’t tell you that you’re a little late but, at least, it’s about time.”  Jan said half-jokingly.

Ranford smiled back at him.

The three men sat before the warming fire that night and ate the fish Jan had cooked and drank the hot tea that he had brewed. Jan told Ranford all about himself mostly just to have something to talk about.  The two soldiers returned the courtesy by telling Jan the news from the flat land villages and cities—that is, the few that were left.

“The plagues have decimated the population.”  Ranford said, staring into the burning embers at the edge of the fire.  “At least the famine is gone—dead people don't eat any food.”

Jan sensed a personal tragedy connected with what the Lieutenant was telling him.  “Loose family, did ya’?”  Jan softly inquired.  Ranford nodded affirmatively.

“They've got good vaccines against the plagues now but I guess that won't bring anybody back—will it?”  Ranford answered.

“No, I suppose it won't.”  Jan Replied.  He understood the comment—don't ask any questions.  It was late and time to rest now anyway.

“Whose gonna' take the first watch?”  Milo asked.

“I will,” Jan returned, “…because you guys need to get a few hours of sleep or you won't be worth shit in the morning.  We've got a lot of walking to do.  I'll guide you down to the old settlement road that leads to Soda Springs.”  The two men nodded in agreement.

“Thanks again, Jan.”  Ranford said.  The two soldiers crawled into the lean-to.  The rugged structure was warm from the heat of the fire in front of them and kept the night chill off their backs.  They pulled their blankets over them and watched the flames.  They began to fall asleep.  Jan threw more wood on the fire.  He took up his RL pulling back the pump to put a round in the chamber. He looked at Ranford.

“Molliths!”  Jan said without bothering to explain.  Ranford just nodded his head and closed his eyes. 

The next morning was overcast and gloomy.  The three men broke camp and made their way out of the alpine valley through the western pass following the lake-fed stream until they met the falls.  From there they turned south and walked along animal trails until they came to the river below.  Jan would have to take them through a narrow cleft in the canyon wall about five miles further south—into Kree territory.

“Don't fool around, you guys; we have to walk through Kree lands now.”  Jan cautioned them.  “See the narrows in the river?”  He said pointing to a place where the river ran over bedrock in a narrow turn of the canyon.  “We have to cross the river there.”  The soldiers said nothing and followed his lead.  As they walked a gust of wind filled the mountain ranges howling along the tree line above.  It blew on for more than an hour until clouds gave way to patches of clear blue sky.

 “It's clearing up.”  Jan said to his companions.  “I know we've got to have rain once in a while but I prefer sunny days—you know?”  They arrived at the cleft around mid-morning and crossed through it into Kree territory.  After they had walked for about an hour Jan noticed a silent sentry on the ridge above.  He stood motionless watching them but when Jan waved to him, he waved back.

Ranford strained to make a pointed observation of the creature.  He was just over seven feet tall, humanoid in build with many of the same familiar muscular definition.  Ranford thought the creature to have a blue-grey skin color.  The sentry stood supported by a javelin in his right hand while his left foot rested gracefully on the inside of his right knee.  Ranford thought his feet resembled those of a human but his facial features seemed chiseled and his hair seemed fine; it was long and it caught the breeze flowing around his chin.  He looked like a graceful bird perched atop the precipice.

“It’s not hair, you know,” Jan explained, “it’s…it’s like long feathers or something.  I think they’re evolved from something like birds.  You know?  I’ve seen one up close and the teeth…they’re wide and serrated like a bird’s beak.” 

“Is everything Okay?”  Ranford asked.

“I think they know that I'm escorting you out of their homelands,” Jan replied, “so I don't think that they're going to interfere.”

“Are you held in high regard then?”  Milo asked.

“No…not really.  They call me Eeche' cahn pinchette.   I think it means: the pinchette that doesn’t kill.”

“What is a pinchette?”  Milo asked.

“It’s a mammal…sort of like a beaver only bigger. It builds lodges in the waterways. They see me building a cabin; they think I’m a mammal—two plus two…you know.  I think they just want me to get rid of you guys is all.”  Jan replied adding a sarcastic raspy chuckle to close his explanation.

The landscape was rugged but the men could feel that they were heading down off the western slopes of the mountain and into a broad valley.  As they came to the southwestern boundaries of the forest they were met with a panoramic view.  It took off north and south as far as the eye could see.  The valley was wide and colored deep green and was cut by a narrow fast-flowing river at its center.  On the northern approaches a herd of Elk grazed.  White Mountain Goats dotted the cliffs and crags of the opposite side.

“No wonder you live up here!”  Ranford said.  “It's beautiful!”

“Don't let it fool you.”  Jan replied.  “That awesome beauty can kill you if you're not careful!”  Ranford gave Jan a quizzical look.   “Mmm-mmm!” Jan continued.  “Crevasses swallow you up!  Goddamn snakes are as big as a small tree—can strike out at you four feet or more! Wild dingoes will hunt you down and rip you limb from limb.  And, if you piss off the Kree, they'll skin you alive!  Watch your ass around here!”  Jan continued down through the meadow into the grand valley before them. The two soldiers looked at each other.

“Flak!”  Ranford commented to Milo.  Milo just shook his head.  The two men followed Jan in silence.

By noon they had crossed the great valley and were climbing the western slopes. 

“We need to get down the other side.  There's an old access road down there that leads to the settlement road.  You'll be safe if you stay close to the road—the Kree won't want to discourage you from leaving” Jan smiled a big broad smile and chuckled again.

“Where do you live?” Asked Ranford?

“Hey look guys I came all the way out here so no one would bother me—you know?”  Jan replied.

“I said we owed you one, Jan, come on you must need something—name it!”  Ranford answered as the three kept walking.

“Yeah . . . well, I want a tall, athletic, good-lookin' woman with a body that won't quit” Jan teased.  “It gets lonely up here sometimes.”

“Hey—I'll see what I can do.”  Ranford remarked with in a casual tone.

Jan thought to ask Ranford if he was serious but just shook his head slightly and let it pass.  He stopped and turned to face the two men.  They stopped short just behind him.

“See that mountain range right there?”  Jan pointed northeasterly.  “I live on a plateau at the northern end of that canyon we crossed. So when you find some beauty queen that wants to spend the rest of her life fishin' and pickin' pine cone nuts, that's where you bring her Okay?”

The two men looked at each other and then at Jan. Milo began with subdued snicker provoking the other two to break into laughter.

“Wise-ass,” Jan snapped with good humor!

“Hey!”  Ranford replied through his laughter.  “I said: I'll see what I can do.”

The men continued laughing as they walked over the crest and down to the ancient road bed below. 

Jan was trying to be serious but kept laughing all the same.  “No . . . seriously guys, if you really want to get me something, I could use some nails…different sizes—you know.” the three companions continued to joke.

“What!  Now you're telling me you're a freak!  Hey! Hey!  Milo he wants to do it with nails—now how the hell do you do it with nails?”  Ranford inquired sarcastically.  The laughter persisted.  Jan's natural humility coupled with his kindness and compassion had bonded the two strangers to him.  He did not know it then but these were decent men who valued friendship.  And Jan would have their friendship for as long as he lived.

* * *

On his way home Jan cut through the northeastern end of the forest and ambled up along the eastern slope until he found an old trail that cut deep into forest floor.  He remembered that at the top of this mountain, well into its eastern pass, there was a small pond where he might be able to catch some fish for dinner.  He didn't think that the Kree would begrudge him a few fish.  He had no way of knowing but, of course, they would not.  Their perception of territory focused on community.  One lone Lakota would not threaten the material well-being of their entire clan.  So they let him go.  Besides, as their Head Man had once insisted, he was of their kind.  They were an instinctive people.

Jan had walked about six miles when he came to the pond.  He broke out his fishing gear and cast in the line and lure.  His legs felt a bit tired from all the walking he had done that morning so he sat down on his haunches to rest at the edge of the pond.  The sunlight danced off the water's surface and played with his consciousness and he began to daydream.  But a movement to the right of his focus snapped him out of his reverie and he turned his head to see what it was.

An old Kree, in native dress, was walking along the deer trail on the opposite side of the pond.  His soft feather-like hair was long and white as snow.  Bird feathers adorned his head, although Jan could not make out what kind they were.  He carried a leather backpack and powerful bow and quiver.  Jan could make out an intricate design embroidered into the man's shirt; he could tell that it was made of some kind of animal skin as were his leggings and moccasins.  Yet, he couldn't remember the significance of that design even though its pattern seemed familiar to him.

Jan made no effort to get the old man's attention and the traveler seemed preoccupied as he was singing an ancient chant in a very low voice, occasionally whistling the forlorn melody—as though praying.  In a short time he vanished into the woods. The incident was innocent enough yet Jan began to feel uneasy about this place.  And then he felt a tug on his line.

After catching three more small brown trout from the pond, he put his gear away and took up his journey home once again.  The land became more familiar to him after he had crossed over the northern range of smaller rolling foothills. Originally, he had climbed the western slopes of that southwestern range and followed the canyon up to where he now lived.  Sunset was nearly upon him when he reached the base of the forested plateau he called home.  He had traveled all day and had but a few fish to show for it.  And for the last two days he had not worked on his cabin. As Jan climbed the trail to the top, he resolved to work all the more harder to make up for the time he had lost.

That night, as he sat before a comforting fire cooking his evening meal, he thought about the two men whose lives he had saved from certain death.  He wondered, for a moment, if they had made it to the outpost at Soda Springs Okay and, after considering their profession once again, reassured himself that they had.

“Funny,” Jan said to himself, “I'm worried about two complete strangers!”  He poked his fire with a stick until it began to crackle.

“It is because you have saved their lives, my son; you have altered their destinies.  Their spirits will be indebted to you until they are able to return to you this kindness.”  A low calm voice spoke from out of the darkness surrounding the cabin.

Jan jumped from the stump on which he had been sitting. The old Kree stood before him motionless—his countenance at seven feet tall was all the more eerie in the glow of firelight.  Jan regained his composure.  He coughed and swallowed to calm himself.  The old man remained still.

“You startled me, grandfather!”  Jan said addressing the old man with courtesy and respect lacking any knowledge of the proper way to address a Kree elder.  “Uh . . . would you like something to eat?”

The old man draped his blanket over a small boulder that lay a comfortable distance from the fire and sat down on it.  He dropped his pack to the ground and then reached over and picked off a morsel of fish from the spit nearest him.

“Sit down and eat, my son—I’m not a ghost!”  The elder reassured him. 

Jan sat back down on his squat wooden stump.  Again the pattern embroidered into the old man's shirt caught his eye—again the feeling of familiarity came over him. Where had he seen that design before? The two men ate in silence for a long while.  Occasionally, Jan would look at the old man and on each occasion the familiarity grew stronger.  Memories from his youth began to seep into his consciousness and they reinforced the growing awareness that he had known this man at some time in the past!  His behavior was instinctively familiar to him even though Jan knew this creature was another species the likes of which he had not know until just a few months ago.  After a time the suspicion became certainty and the countenance of the man in his memory became completely mapped to the image that his eyes beheld.

“Wanagi Ska!”  Jan whispered—The White Ghost.  Sweat beaded up on his brow and forearms; his hands became clammy.  He suddenly realized the Kree elder was communicating with him in his native Lakota Tongue.

“I was wonderin' when you were gonna' recognize me.” The old Kree replied in a low but very casual voice.

“You were an old man then.”  Jan said.  “I was just a boy—that was more than twenty years ago!”  Jan stood up slowly and took a few steps backward.  He wore an expression of complete disbelief.

“My father called you 'old man' and his father before him!”  Jan continued.  “How old are you?  And…you are Kree!” 

Wanagi Ska finished chewing his food and swallowed.

“I’m a pretty damn old man, my son.  I knew your ancestors.  I am the guardian of your blood line.  I have watched over you since you were born.  Do you think that you're here because you wanna' be?  You came to this place to fulfill your destiny, my son.  And, if you keep goin' the way you're goin', you're gonna' be dead by winter!  I've come to teach you the ways of your ancestors—the ancient ways—to give you knowledge of our earth mother, so that you can survive and have children.  It is important for you to have children so that your heritage can continue.  And me?  Why…I can be anybody I damn well please!  But, it's not important for you to understand all of this right now so sit down and finish you dinner—you're aggravatin' me and I'm really hungry. Where are your manners anyway?”

Jan sat back down and began to eat again.  He ate slowly.  “This guy has got to be a couple of hundred years old!”  He thought to himself.

“I'm over three thousand years old, my son.  Wakan Tanka has given me immortality.  My work takes a lot of time.”  Wanagi Ska replied.

Jan was startled once again to think that the old man could read his thoughts.

“Don't be troubled, my son.  I can't read your mind but I know you well enough to read your body's language.  You're scared a' me aren't you?”  The old man asked.

Jan did not reply but asked: “How am I gonna' have children?  I've got no woman here.  Are you also a match-maker, grandfather?”

“Wakan Tanka will take care of that.  Finish your food and get to bed.  You will need your rest—we have work to do in the morning!” Wanagi Ska motioned to the construction around him. “We gotta' finish buildin' this lodge of yours.  Then I gotta' teach you how to be a true Lakota and you have to learn the Way of the Kree as well or you're gonna' die of starvation this winter; I swear!”

The two sat in quiet conversation for the rest of the evening until Wanagi Ska told Jan he was tired and wanted to sleep.  Jan watched as the old Kree curl up on his bedroll and cover himself with his blanket.  His blue-grey skin took on a golden luminescence before the light of the waning camp fire.  Jan climbed to his tree house and got into his hammock covering himself against the night chill as well.

“Don’t you want to come up here with me, Grandfather?” Jan politely asked.  “It’s safer.”

“The animals won’t bother me, my boy, now go to sleep.” Wanagi Ska answered.  And, after a while the two men fell asleep.

“Well done, Emile.”  Tofla said.

“You see?”  Emile asked rhetorically.  “Stardust always finds its way back to its origins.  It’s still impressive though.”

“What—to see so perfect a transformation,” Tofla asked?

“No, not so much that…we’ve seen it so many times among the elders.  No, what I meant was the act of summoning the soul to duty.  This old fellow’s life on Earth had ended well over three hundred millennia ago.  The Creator had lifted him up again nearly five centuries before our subject was born—all in preparation for this event.  Come on now, Tofla, even you are impressed by the Creator’s capacity to view events along the continuum!”  Emile explained.

“Oh, yes, I certainly am impressed but I would find it a fearful thing to view the future.”  Tofla returned.

“So would I.  I’d rather just watch reality unfold as we have always done down through all these countless epochs.  It’s like reading a really good book.  You know?” Emile seemed to be reminiscing. “I’ve forgotten my own beginning. Have you?”

“Well, of course dear friend, I’m as old as you.” Tofla replied.

“I hope that we always know each other…that we never forget…you’ve been such a good friend and a trustworthy companion.”  Emile said quietly turning a leaf of the book before him.

“I wonder where all this will lead, Emile, I wonder what that phenomenal force has planned for all of us.”  Tofla mused.

“Paradise, I would assume.”  Emile replied.

* * *

Time passed.  Together Jan and the old man finished the cabin.  Wanagi Ska was good at the potter's wheel and made several items for the household besides the tile pipe required to plumb the structure—items such as bowls and platters, cups and baking pots.  The old man even knew how to make the cooking stove properly.  Once completed, Jan marveled at how the stove required only a small bundle of dry wood to produce enough heat to cook and warm the cabin.

Wanagi Ska taught him how to harvest wild oats and how to grind it in a home made, hand operated grist mill so that it could be made into unleavened bread.  He taught him how to hunt Elk properly with a throwing stick and javelin and bow and arrow and not with his pulse rifle.  Jan learned the different ways to hunt each species of fowl.  And, the old man taught him how to gather more than just wild greens; Jan was taught to identify and harvest the right tuberous plants, roots, and berries.  His diet improved dramatically.  The old man taught him how to trap and how to treat the pelts and tan leather and make clothes for himself.  He taught him how to process the marsh nettles and spin their fibers into a linen-like cloth or a sturdy rope.

Jan also learned the art of healing.  Wanagi Ska taught him knowledge of the many different kinds of herbs and natural compounds available to him in the wild.  He learned their medicinal uses and the beneficial substances that could be concocted by combining them in the appropriate manner. But, most of all, Wanagi Ska taught him about Wakan Tanka and how he must train himself to be in harmony with Creation.  This was necessary, the old man explained, because Wakan Tanka had, long ago chosen the Kree and, more importantly, had chosen Jan to help fulfill his “plan” for the Universe.  It was too great a concept to fathom but Jan accepted Wanagi Ska's assertion nonetheless. 

The two men grew very close as would a father and son. Jan loved Wanagi Ska very much and valued his companionship more than any being that he had ever known.  Wanagi Ska never stopped teaching him.  He taught Jan valuable lessons even when he told him the ancient stories and legends of the Kree people just to entertain him.

The “growing period,” as the old man called it, was intense and lasted all through the summer and into early fall.  And then one day Wanagi Ska was gone.  Jan awoke one pleasant fall morning to find that he was all alone.  He called out to Wanagi Ska but received no answer; he searched for him diligently but could not find him.  At the end of the day, on his way back to the cabin, he stopped to rest beside the river at the bottom of the canyon.  He felt sadness enter his heart. He missed his teacher if only for a day and, strangely enough, he wanted to cry like a small child. 

In the stretch of river bank to his right he was startled to see, emerging from the woods, a great bull elk.  It had, what appeared to be a beaded belt in its mouth. It quietly walked up to within a few yards of Jan and laid the belt down on the gravel river bank directly in front of him.  It looked at him for a moment and then turned and trotted away into the trees.

“Pick up the belt, my son.”  Jan heard his teacher's voice whisper on the evening breeze.

“Grandfather,” Jan began but the old man cut him off.

“Shut up and listen because I haven't got time to be foolin' around with you.”  Wanagi Ska replied and then continued.  “Your training is over with.  Soon, Wakan Tanka is gonna' send you a nice wife and you're gonna' be happy 'cause a gentle spirit like yours shouldn't be left alone in the world.  And I want you to get rid of this sadness I'm feelin' from you.  I'm not gonna' abandon you, my son, I just gotta' go on a walk for awhile.  I'll be back.  My heart will always be with you so don't do anythin' stupid!  Remember what I have taught you; observe the life around you. Live in harmony with it.  I must commence my journey; goodbye for now.”

Jan dried the tears from his eyes, stood up and walked over to the belt to pick it up.  As he gathered it into his hands he recognized the pattern, embroidered with small beads, as the one he had so often seen on the old man's shirt.  Then a reckoning came to him.  He realized that the pattern was the same pattern that his father and grandfather had worn on their clothing.  It was a pattern he had grown up knowing and he understood why he had overlooked its significance before.  It was the talisman of his tribe's holy man—the emblem of Walks with Wakan Tanka, a holy man of God!

Jan looked up and across the river.  There on the far side stood three Kree warriors—javelin in hand, their throwing sticks dangling form their belts.  One warrior stood slightly apart from his companions. He was a huge, powerful creature standing there with the wind in his feathery hair.  He made the sign of respect, touching the palm of his right hand to his forehead and gently waving it off toward Jan.  Jan stood and returned the expression of respect.  The big Kree smiled.

“Che’klah-pinchette,” the Warrior cried out to him from the other side showing the palm of his right hand—a sign of greeting!  It meant: pinchette of the People.  Then the man turned away with his companions and disappeared into the thick forested ridge.  Jan realized that they had been watching his indoctrination all these long months; human or not, he had become one of them.

Over the next two months, before winter really settled in, Ranford came back to visit a few times.  He brought some provisions that he thought Jan could use and a small generator so that Jan could power a two-way radio, an entertainment center, and a couple of lamps.  On this last trip out, Ranford chidingly reminded Jan that he was working on that “special request.”  The soldiers brought news from the flat lands and told stories that made them all laugh as they sat waiting for Jan to finish cooking the evening meal.  It was rabbit stew.  His companions enjoyed the meal immensely—it being far more palatable and nutritious than the synthetic food they were accustomed to eating.  Jan made no mention of the old man to any of them and they just assumed that Jan had been a very busy person during the many months they’d been away.

Shuttle crews are usually about five in number so the cabin was kind of crowded as everyone bed down for the night.  But as Jan lay in his bed, he thought of how much he enjoyed their company and figured that reporting the weather over the radio was the least that he had to do in return for such social amenities as their simple presence in his life.

The following morning Jan followed all of them out to the shuttle.  It was a heavy-lifter perched on a grassy knoll just up from and behind the cabin. Ranford explained that he wouldn't be making any more trips until spring because of the severity of the weather. He didn't think the bio-smugglers would risk their lives attempting to enter the Republic's territory in sub-zero weather and an almost continuous snow fall.  Jan agreed.

The black market always got real lean during the winter months down in the flat lands along the coast.  The bio-junkies always went berserk because they couldn't get their natural drugs—the drug traffic having dwindled to almost nothing during winter.  It was a dying trade anyway.  The settlers were gradually dying off.  The planet’s human population had become so small that the birth rate had gone negative. The Kree did not very often trade in manufactured goods and killed smugglers when ever they found them astray from their colonial settlements.  Cutter’s Claim only attracted the hard cases now.  Hardly anyone used the space port as a stop over anymore.  Overland through the mountains of the Che’-Kree were the only routes black market smugglers could follow without attracting the attention of the colonial police and, soon, those ancient by-ways would be closed off—buried beneath twenty feet of snow or more.  Some drug freaks were going to die, for sure, but this is what winter always brought—depravation.

Jan helped them load their belongings and then he shook hands with everyone and said goodbye.  “Remember,” Ranford said, “if you get into trouble, you call us on the radio right away and I'll come out here—I mean it, Jan.”

“Ah, relax Jack, my kind are used to the wild; I'll be alright—see you in the spring.”  And Jan shook his friend’s hand as he pulled him into a generous hug. They slapped each other on the back and then Ranford climbed into the cockpit.  Jan stood back away from the forward turbine blades and out of the worst of the thruster wash waving goodbye as the shuttle made its assent.

“Goodbye!”  He yelled out to them even though he knew they couldn't hear him but they read his lips and waved back to him.  The shuttle made one circular sweep above Jan's head and then took off into the west. Quiet returned to the mountain wilderness Jan had made his home.  He shook his head and laughed to himself.  He really enjoyed that visit.  Then he remembered that he should check his trap line today.  The weather was crisp and cold; even though it was a gloriously sunny day and Jan knew that the great snows of the Che’-Kree Mountains were on their way.

That year, winter came down upon the mountains hard. The snows lasted until March.  Jan appreciated his teacher's considerate schooling in the art of survival more than ever.  He was also glad that his friend Ranford had left him so many books to read—there was very little else to do and the idleness might have driven him crazy!  He spoke with Jack just about every other day.  Jack would initiate the calls at a time during the day when he thought that Jan might be having a hot cup of tea by the fire.  He continually insisted that Jan wear the personal radio phone. It had a GPS unit on it.  If Jack thought Jan might be staying in one spot too long as he walked the trails outside, he’s call him.  Jan knew that, if he didn’t answer, Jack would assume that he’d been hurt and come for him zeroing in on that GPS signal.  Jack was always worrying over Jan.  But, Jan was careful and the winter plowed on uneventfully.

Jan needed a ladder to get out of the cabin from time to time.  The snows had buried the doorway in over twelve feet!  Jan dug out a steep tunnel to the outside and used his crude ladder to get up and down.  During winter's onset, it snowed almost every day.  Most of the time the snow fall was just a few inches.  Sometimes it was several feet!  And it wasn't until March that the sky cleared and the snow fall became sporadic.

Jan hunted a little by day but, aside from a few deer and mountain goats, there was very little variety up in his part of the countryside.  He had happened across a Kree hunting party once and shared his jerky with them telling them where he had last seen game.  He invited them to his cabin for something to eat but they declined explaining that it was very important for them to find some game for their village that day.  Those were the only people he had seen during the whole winter season.

When April came around the weather warmed.  The snow began to melt and everything in the wilderness was damp with the water of spring.  Jan drew sap from a tree similar to a maple he had located here and there and boiled off the sap to make a small quantity of sweet syrup.  As May arrived the bulk of the snow had dissipated becoming run-off that gorged the mountain streams and fed the colossal network of Mountain Rivers that carried the raging waters off toward the distant brine sea.

Jan kept busy by repairing the damage to his homestead caused by shifting snow and ice.  The damage wasn't extensive and he had the repairs completed in no time at all. May was also a muddy month and it wasn't until the third week that warmer temperatures and sunny days had dried up the trails and meadows enough to where it wasn't a pain in the behind to walk about.  But the warm winds and wetness of spring also caused the alpine meadows to blossom and that was quite a sight!  The pastels were dazzling shades of red, yellow, blue, green, and purple. Sometimes it just took his breath away making him glad that he was alive to witness all of the color and magnificent beauty of the wilderness left untouched by human hands now for over eight hundred years.  Jack had given Jan a digicam and he would take pictures of these magnificent natural wonders.  At night when he was at his workstation filing his daily report, he’d send Jack and the boys the pictures.

The months on Cutter’s Claim were an average of 30 standard days in length making each season a welcome change.  When June came so did the brisk winds of early summer. The days invigorated him.  Jan gathered, chopped and split, and stacked wood for three days at a time.  Then he'd break off from that work and hunt and fish for a couple of days.  While the meat was drying in the sun, Jan would gather grains, tubers, and wild herbs.  He kept busy in this way for he knew that it was important for him to have enough to eat for the winter.  And his previous experience warned him that winter would be very hard and very long.

One day Jan decided to rest from his labors.  He sat on the heavy stout stump he used to split wood and rummaged through a canvas bag full of goodies that Ranford had left him on his last visit.  His fingers felt the shape for which he was looking—a small plastic rectangle—he immediately withdrew it from the bag.

Studies in Classical Music the title read.  Jan mumbled the title and put the bag back down. He stood, with the cartridge in hand, and walked over to his front porch to climb the steps to the deck. Occupying a corner of the porch was a rustic chair and small table.  Upon the table he had put the entertainment center that Ranford had given him.  He pushed the cartridge down into its receptacle and settled into the chair to listen to the music.

After a moment, a narrator's voice began outlining the tutorial.  Jan wasn't much of a classical music votary but he preferred it to the tinkle and clash of contemporary music as it attempted to imitate the erosion of the human condition with strange sounds.  Classical music had rich strains of melody and harmony that he enjoyed listening to.  The music stirred his emotions and made him think about things—life, death, the seasons of the year, the Cosmos.  Yes, it was thought-provoking stuff!

To Jan the sounds of contemporary civilization were the sounds of someone screaming through a nightmare.  Down there in the flat lands along the coast, in the last remaining scraps of Civilization, it seemed as though they were justified in composing such music but he believed it would have helped mankind more if they had used music as a guide to find the way out of Hell instead of as a “last will and testament.”

The population had been shrinking for centuries. Tradition claimed that plagues had visited humanity late in the millennium.  Their biology had progressively mutated preventing humans from developing immunity to them and so they had devastated the global population. The onslaught had made men weak and unable to resist disease.  People died like flies from it—especially those over forty years old.  The only old people common to human experience were older humans in the rural and wilderness areas that were not continually exposed to the plethora of common diseases prevalent in urban populations.  But, even though everyone could draw the same conclusions from this fact, the majority of people elected to remain in the crumbling urban centers and take their chances with an early death.  The thought of living a life that men like Jan preferred frightened most and kept them hostage to a horrible fate.

The last of the uninfected humans had left the planet for Gannemead over eight hundred years ago.  But for a few scientists, no one was interested in space travel anymore. The great Wars of Annihilation had put an end to progress.  The human experience, on Cutter’s Claim, had become an ugly little routine in an isolated place among the stars.  Cutter’s Claim was an outpost of the old routine and that was gradually giving way to cessation.  Those who remained were mostly rugged outdoorsmen and Military people manning a remote outpost of civilization for the Gannemead Republic—a group of home worlds where humanity had made a startling recovery and civilization had been reborn according to the principles of common sense.

Jan's people, the Lakota, had immigrated to Gannemead thousands of years ago on great generation ships—or so they were told. They were a people who had always loved the wild open spaces of the great wilderness mountains, valleys, and plains.  By the beginning of the last millennium they had re-established themselves as a race of hardy people.  When Cutter filed a claim to the planet, he invited those who were hardy enough to manage a wilderness life to join him.  Many of Jan’s people emigrated to Cutter’s Claim to start a new yet more traditional life.  Some contemporary historians claimed that, at one time, there were men whose skin was white and that they had been a variety of human on the mother planet—the legendary Earth.  But, the colonials thought that these were the stories of a people who were nothing more than mythical characters; a metaphor for a ruling elite in ancient times. They doubted that such an enclave of humanity ever existed.  Jan’s people had a genetic memory and they knew differently.

After the collapse of the First Epoch some four millennia ago, much of human history had been destroyed.  Archives did survive in time capsules buried deep inside the ruins of these ancient places.  These records often contained pictures depicting people with white skin but they had always been held suspect by academicians.  Perhaps these were the stylized photographs of a religious people; an early expression of art or body painting—no one really knew and this left much to speculation.

Archaeologists of the forty-first century asserted that the white man might have been a strain of human that had evolved on Earth—the origin of mankind.  They had found consistent evidence in the archives they discovered that dated all the way back to a period when people from the first generation ships had landed on Gannemead.  It suggested that such a race had once existed—a very long time ago.  Jan found such stories interesting but knew that no such human existed now except in the stories of his people told around their dining room tables.

Most men and women had skin that ranged in color from yellow to red to a very light brown to dark brown or black.  Scientists had claimed that the variations in color were the result of a subtle evolutionary modification to the human genome over the millennia, the result of the environmental changes perhaps.

Historic archives mentioned that, on the old world, humans had destroyed the ozone layer.  Without this layer, the increased radiation destroyed the skin cells of those humans who were “white.”  Over the ensuing centuries, humans evolved natural defenses in their skin that gradually shifted the color of humanity toward darker hues.  Contemporary scientists suggested that white-skinned people, if they existed at all, may have been plagued by the destructive effects of such an environment and died off completely or, as some theories speculate, evolved into the human of today.

Maybe the white race actually did exist—who could tell? Maybe there were enough whites among the star-bound colony ships to continue their kind.  Perhaps such a race was lost forever—extinct.  The facts were interesting to discuss but totally irrelevant now.  And, at any rate, Jan had never been off the planet and didn’t know for certain.  All the people he had ever seen, including Ranford and the others, were all an olive-complexion or darker.  Jan's color was an earthy light shade of red.  He was a huge man by anyone's standards--well over six feet tall.  His body was hard and muscular but he had always had a pensive and gentle disposition.

When he worked on the Great Barrier Wall, that was built to save the City of Somitta from the sea, he had met a woman.  She was Chinee.  Jan had fallen very much in love with her; she had told him that he was very handsome.  Her companionship had made him feel good about himself.  But, she died of the plague.  He watched her wither slowly and, in her final death throes, he held her tenderly and loved her without reservation until the end.  Shortly after her death, he applied for permission to move into the frontier.  The bureaucrats pushed his paper work through not because they had compassion but because Loners were useful to the Military.  No body wanted to live out there among the Kree.  He avoided assignment by neglecting to report the location of his proposed homestead.  He just left Civilization behind knowing no one would bother looking for him.  When Ranford set him up as an outpost he pulled his original application and brought it up to date so no one would ever suspect that he had broken the law.  The truth was, even if they had known, they wouldn't have done a thing.  The dregs of humanity were just too damn tired to care.

The music flowed.  It relaxed him and made him meditate upon the issues that made up his intellect's perspective on reality.  He thought about his ancient origins; his unusual up-bringing in the household of his maternal grandfather—himself a powerful shaman. Jan realized that he did not plan his actions as did other men he had known.  There was never an agenda to follow.  There were no specific goals, no primary objectives to achieve.  In Jan's mind, life was its own reason for existing. “How strange of me!” he thought, “I never wanted anything more than…to see the next sunrise!”

The lyrics of the music caught him in a migratory thought and broke his concentration.  His intellect reached out into his reverie and tried to capture it—tried to examine it but it escaped his scrutiny.  He felt the notion fly off into the corridors of his mind leaving him with the sensation of familiarity poised at the tip of his tongue.  He settled back as the song finished its harmonic chorus.

Jan turned his head to view the generator Ranford had brought him months ago.  It sat squat on a steel pad some distance from the cabin.  “God damn Technology,” he thought, “music is the only thing it’s good for!”  He listened patiently to the next narrative.  The tutorial focused, once again, on music of the Great Migration.

“These were the people who financed the Great Migration that eventually led to the human Diaspora throughout this part of the Galaxy.” He thought.  “How could their music have so much insight and their actions so much insanity?”  He asked himself.  Music had survived the long period of dramatic change.  Several thousand years of human history had passed since the music he was listening to had first been composed.  Jan felt curious.  Technology had produced a devastation as well as music that continually warned against the danger of abusing it.  It was a fatal paradox.

In Jan’s own time, the technocrats concentrated their talents on improving biotechnology and bio-mechanical engineering.  It was a technology that was inexpensive to develop when compared to, say, a military weapons system such as a pulse canon.  A debilitated humanity knew about space travel, robots, cyborgs, androids, and intelligent life-forms cleverly designed in the laboratory but focused precious little attention on interplanetary exploration for example.  There hadn't been an expedition out to the mining settlements in nearly eighty years. The last effort to travel off-world from Cutter’s Claim into the blackness of space was an idiotic project that put an intelligent communications satellite into orbit.  It was called CARL—an anagram for Communications And Ranging Link.  They stopped using it during the fifth year of its operation.  About seventy years later some scientist in Somitta had restored its communications link only to find out that the thing had gone crazy; after all that time in isolation it couldn't do anything more than babble. So, they left it there to babble on until its fusion pack died.

The society of this latest epoch had anti-gravity ships that could travel at mach 3 within the atmosphere but nobody used them for anything other than military purposes.  They had teaching machines that could embed the combined knowledge of an entire library into a human brain over night.  They had modern medicine that could reconstruct a severed limb or repair a damaged heart through regenerative genetic engineering.  But, they couldn't stop the killing—the viciousness of human nature—they had no weapon against greed!  And then there were the Nistasi.  Some thought them demons from an unknown world.  They were a blood-thirsty race that periodically raided the home worlds.  And, like the mythic barbarians of antiquity, when ever humankind came into contact with them they would leave nothing but ruin and death in their wake.  They hadn’t bothered the settlements or “lost worlds” as the Republic was apt to call places like Cutter’s Claim.  There weren’t enough humans to eat or enough of a civilization to bother destroying.

The plagues had become a conundrum.  They had kept the global population on Cutter’s Claim at less than one hundred million.  Scientists just couldn't get a handle on any of it; it kept mutating into something new. Environmental Philosophers had proposed that Gaea, the Earth Mother—a concept of ancient times and a metaphor for the Ecosystem in general, had “perceived” the human race a threat. Humans had, at one time, polluted the planet much beyond Nature's capacity to cleanse it.  And so, the Mother of all the Titans had “decided” to eliminate man—the ultimate source of her personal tragedy.

For the last three centuries the planet’s human population had steadily declined.  Some historians had found fragments of ancient literature that suggested that the global population had once been around five hundred million!  But, then there came the Holocaust.  According to legend, the Holocaust was more than a global conflict; it was a bloody carnage that lasted over two centuries!  It had taken place some eight hundred years ago.

Civilization had suffered set-backs before but never on that scale.  It had taken all this time for mankind to recoup.  Here on Cutter’s Claim, civilization never regained its former vitality. It had lost its roots.  It was withering as its remaining constituents eked out a living on a hostile wilderness planet that was fed up with their very presence.  And, the memories of days gone by gradually died with the decaying communities.  Now, very few people were even interested in the past primarily because there didn't seem to be much of a future.

This experience with music relaxed him and he fell off into a deep sleep.  The darkness of natural rest gave way to a vision of wide green meadows, of swaying grass and clear blue sky.  The sun hung low on the horizon splashing a torrent of red upon the snow-capped mountains of the Che’-Kree.  Below him the sweeping plains ran on forever!

Strange looking horses—small powerful-looking beasts with short bristled manes grazed complacently.  He turned slowly to face north.  On the plain several miles distant, a great wall of ice ran east until it faded from sight over the horizon.  Jan heard a haunting melody played upon a Kree bone flute and wondered at the significance of what he was experiencing.

“Lakota!” a voice spoke from behind him!  Jan turned to see the image of his teacher, Wanagi Ska—the White Ghost!  He was arrayed in the finest of ceremonial clothing.  Feathers of the great Che’Klat: a giant bird that resembled an eagle decorated his hair and he held his old ceremonial spear in his right hand.

“Grandfather,” Jan asked the wraith?  He felt a longing to reach out for him—to embrace him for he loved him so.  But the old man held up the palm of his left hand—a greeting signal to be still.

“Che’klah-pinchette,” his teacher addressed him using the Clan-name the Warrior had given to him.  “Do you remember the most important legend of our people?”  Jan nodded affirmatively.

“Yes, Grandfather, it is the promise that one day Wakan Tanka will return the land to us.” The yearning to embrace his teacher grew stronger but he fought his emotions and remained obedient.

“Look before you, my beloved son…the hour is at hand.” The great shaman extended his left arm and gestured toward all Jan saw before him.  Jan looked away from the old man and down into the broad valley below. By the placid river he saw men of his own kind sitting around a sacred fire, beating drums—chanting in the Lakota tongue.  He had not seen them there before.

He heard the sound of the melody again and looked toward the place where his teacher had been standing; where once he had seen his teacher's apparition there, instead, a cottonwood tree grew.  It towered over him—the branches of the tree spread wide into the open sky.  Jan turned back to view the valley again.  To his astonishment, he saw thousands of dwellings along the river. To the left of his view, dust clouds swirled around bare-chested young men playing a game on horseback.  Women, in traditional dress, washed clothes by the river, cooked meals over open fires, or picked berries along a hillside. Children ran screaming delightful cries as they played a game not unlike tag.

Jan turned back toward the tree and saw the image of Wanagi Ska within the tree.  His face was part of the trunk, his arms the strong lower branches, his feet among the roots at its base.

“Rejoice, my son, for Wakan Tanka has kept his promise!” His teacher proclaimed as his image faded from view.  “This is the tree from which our people shall be sustained.  Remember me…remember your Clan.”  And then, the image disappeared.

The strange, almost alien, music continued.  Night fell fast upon the earth; it was as though time had been fast-forwarded.  The campfires of the people dotted the landscape.  Jan felt the need to look up and did.  He saw two silver-blue moons hanging in the sky and he wondered at this.  The sky became rich with starlight drawing his orientation into its vastness.  He felt vertigo; thought he might fall and reached out for the rocks around him only to discover that they were no longer there!  He was standing in the middle of eternity—suspended in nothingness—with millions of stars, planets, and great nebulas all around him!  And the haunting melody continued until his fear subsided and darkness washed over him again.

Jan awoke to the whining of thruster engines.  They were the engines of a shuttle. “Jack?”   He thought.  Jan sprung from his seat and vaulted down from the porch, clearing all three steps, to land on the ground in front of his cabin.  He quickly turned to face the knoll behind his cabin. The sun was low in the sky.  Had he slept through the afternoon?

It was Jack Ranford alright.  Jan recognized the big blue number “1” on the nose of the shuttlecraft.  “I guess it’s that time.”  He thought. In an even gait, Jan took off up the narrow trail that led to the hilltop.  He noticed six people, instead of the usual five, get out of the ship. Everyone removed their helmets except for a tall person that followed behind the soldiers, those he knew waved to him as they approached.  Jan waved back.

As he neared the group he looked the newcomer over. “A woman,” he realized!  She took off her helmet.  Like the other soldiers she wore the standard camo-green.  But, that's where the similarity stopped.  She was tall, athletic, and very, very shapely. The other men allowed her to walk through their group and straight up to Jan.  She stood there a moment and Jan took in the detail of her features—she was so tall and so beautiful!

“Hi . . . my name's Sarah.”  The woman said extending her hand.  Jan reached out and took her slender hand in his.  He felt strange.  He thought that he knew her but couldn't remember that he had ever seen her before.

“You're Jan?”  She asked.  Jan stood there shaking her hand, speechless.

“What?”  He replied.

“I said: you're Jan—am I right?”  She repeated.  To this Jan nodded “yes.”

“Wakan Tanka. . .” Jan began to say but he stopped himself.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Jan replied. “It was just...nothing.”

Her hair was cut short and the helmet she had worn had pressed it down close against her scalp.  She was not quite six feet tall; her hair had a carrot-colored hue.  Her skin was very light tan but it too seemed infused with the strange mild hue of her hair.  Her blouse was open in the front and form-fitted to her figure. Delicate freckles decorated her cheeks and neck ending at her cleavage.  He had no trouble noticing the ample, round breasts and deliciously curved hips. Her trousers were also form-fitted revealing a pair of long, magnificently shaped, slender legs.

Ranford walked by him and headed toward the cabin. He was smiling a wry smile and, as he passed behind the woman, he lifted his eyebrows teasing Jan with his expression.

“Welcome.”  Jan said to her and turned back down the trail toward his cabin but then he remembered his manners and turned back to her.  “I'm sorry.”  He said and he gestured to her to follow him.  Sarah trotted out a few steps then took up a stride alongside him.

“Sarah is a meteorologist, Jan.”  Ranford explained as he passed a bowl of roasted wild potatoes to the man seated next to him.  The cabin was full of the wonderful sounds of company!  They all sat at evening meal.

“A scientist, up here,” Jan asked eying Sarah? She sat across from Jan and acted as though she was keeping something from him; she seemed embarrassed and would not respond to his open question.

“Well, meteorology and Astrophysics, actually,” Jack returned.

“Huh?”  Jan asked. The idea sounded absurd given the attitude most people had toward space exploration in general.

Ranford stopped eating momentarily and shook his head. “Let me explain.”  He said as he took another bite of elk roast.  “Some scientist in Somitta thinks we're all gonna' get hit by this big meteorite heading toward the planet.”  Jack began.  Its way out there now—probably won't be here for years.  Ain't that right Sarah?”

Sarah was chewing her food and couldn't speak but she nodded approvingly.

Jack continued:  “Well Sarah, here, is gonna make some observations from this sector on account of the atmosphere is clearer up here.  We didn't think you'd mind some company…and some help with the meteorology—your weather reports suck.”

Jan had stopped eating and was expressionless.

“You don't mind the company—do you?”  Jack repeated.  Jan felt the shock of the implications buried in that question.  It was a two-room cabin. And, he remembered Ranford's promise to him.  Ranford had a thoroughly “wise-ass” look on his face.

“Well, I…uh…”  Jan's voice trailed off.  Jack broke the tension of the moment by slapping Jan on the back.

“What a guy!”  Ranford said in an overly-emphatic tone.

“What a true friend!”  Milo added.  Everyone knew that Jan was too embarrassed to answer (and much too lonely to refuse).

Sarah smiled.  She thought Jan was sweet and looked at him in as friendly a fashion as she could conceive.  It seemed to diffuse his apprehension.

“Okay, Okay,” Jack added quickly, “we'll work the details out later.  But, let's eat now—huh?”

Laughter broke out among everyone.  The moment was awkward.  Sarah made no comment but continued smiling at the big handsome red-skinned fellow before her.

At twilight the next day, Jan was up before everyone else and had gone out onto the porch to drink his morning tea.  He wiled away the better part of an hour watching the dawn ebb away and listening to the sounds of an awakening wilderness.  The sound of footsteps on the wooden deck behind him caught his attention and he turned to see Ranford standing there gulping tea from an over-sized mug embellished with a big blue number “1” on one side and the name “Jack” on the other.  He walked up to Jan and put his hand on Jan's shoulder.

“Hey buddy, you look disappointed—or is it sleepy?”  Ranford said in a subdued voice.

Jan smiled nervously.

“It's not because of Sarah is it?”  Ranford asked.

“Jack, how big is that thing out there?”  Jan inquired.

“Ohhh . . . I see.  Ah, it's pretty big—they estimate about eight miles in diameter.” Ranford replied.  The answer brought a visible change in Jan's facial expression.

“Eight miles,” he said in amazement!

Ranford motioned to him to keep his voice down.

“What are they planning to do?”  Jan asked in almost a whisper.

“They're going to try to have some sort of rocket array ready by the time it enters our solar system.  They're saying that they have to build this space station and all. Most of the home worlds have signed on to the program but it'll take 'em several years to get their asses in gear. Hell! We don't have a space program here on Cutter’s Claim to speak of!”  Ranford answered.

“What'll happen to us if that thing hits the planet then?”  Jan asked.

“Well, Sarah says it'll kick up enough debris to kill most everything on the planet, not to mention screwing up the weather for a decade maybe more.  The best we can do for now is plan—you know—store up food supplies, move populations to more stable ground--that kind of thing.  Their telling us that screwing up the weather could bring on an extended winter.  We’re already living through the dawn of a new ice age.  The scientists only agree on one thing…a lot of people are gonna' die if that thing hits us!”

Jan watched the sun spill over the horizon—daybreak. What would life for him be without that fair friend to start each new day?

“Jack,” Jan began, “there aren’t many people on this planet to begin with, you know.”

“Yeah, but the Government is saying that we have to save this world as a part of the Gannemead Republic.  It still has good deposits of titanium ore.”  Jack replied.  “They feel they need an outpost and the investment in the technology to drive that chunk of rock back into space is worth the effort.”

“I only want to see the next sunrise.”  Jan murmured.

“What?”  Jack asked.

“Nothing,” Jan answered, “just talking to myself.”

The men finished unloading Sarah's equipment. They had brought along a portable observatory and technical lab that they erected on the knoll just behind the cabin.  Jan suggested the spot--right over the rear entrance to the cave so that Sarah could enter the observatory through the rear of Jan's dwelling, even in bad weather.

In the week that Jack Ranford and his crew had been there Jan had become used to Sarah's presence—and her strange, almost alien, beauty. He learned that she was a native of Erta, one of the distant home worlds.  Sarah had volunteered for duty at the frontier shortly after graduating from college.  She talked to him often and was able to glean, from those conversations, Jan's character and personal history.  By week's end she felt that she knew a great deal about him.  Jan, on the other hand, was much too shy to probe Sarah's past and preferred her to remain the mysterious beauty.

On the final day of Jack's stay, Jan and Sarah walked with the recon team back to the shuttle.  They all said their goodbyes and shook hands with each other.

“Until next time then,” Jack said, shaking Jan's hand. He turned to Sarah.  “Take good care of him, Sarah, he's the only real friend that I ever had!”  Milo began revving up the engines and Jack had to almost roar through the noise of the thrusters and engine exhaust.

Jack shook Sarah's hand then turned to Jan so that Sarah couldn't see his face and playfully winked at Jan.

“You damn dink!”  Jan thought.  “How am I gonna' deal with this?”

“Have fun, you two!”  Ranford bellowed out as he jogged towards the shuttle.  Ranford entered the rear of the craft and closed the door.  Jan and Sarah waved again.  Jack soon appeared in the cockpit next to Milo and smiled at them then motioned to Milo to lift off.

The big machine rose from the ground awkwardly at first then, in a deafening roar of engine exhaust, it plowed straight up about thirty feet to turn and face west southwest.  With a lurch, dipping its stubby snout down slightly, it took off banking left and then right—Ranford's way of saying goodbye.  Jan and Sarah watched the departure until the shuttlecraft disappeared over the first string of mountain peaks.

Quiet returned to the wilderness and it soothed their ears.  Sarah walked over to Jan and stood directly in front of him.  She reached up and gently embraced the strong contours of his face.  Jan stood frozen with embarrassment—blushing like a child.  It piqued his senses.  He drew in the scent of her—vaguely like the mild fragrance wild strawberries—it was intoxicating.  He momentarily lost control of his consciousness.  His thoughts skipped off to somewhere else and then came back to him in an instant.  He focused on her eyes.

“I want you to grow your hair long.  I think it would look nice.”  She quietly instructed him.

She said this as though she had loved him for a thousand years.  She required it of him as a wife would require it of a husband—with authority—as though he owed it to her.  Then she let him go and walked away from him into the field toward the cabin. Strangely enough, Jan felt compelled to indulge her.