Approx: 9,300 words
Copyright (c) 2001

The Sheckley Drive sneezed, then slid the ship into decompressed space/time as it came up on a floater. Jock was asleep at the time. The alarm awakened him. He loosed his sleep straps, pushed off from his bunk, floated over to the command chair and began to run the computer diagnostics to see what was wrong. 

He was not feeling all that well. FTL jumps did that to him. And, he was out of scotch, which didn’t help his attitude any, either. He had consumed the last of it while on the planet, Buick, enjoying dreams of coming wealth, but the deal with the inhabitants hadn’t worked out, so he was broke, sick and sober. 

The sick feeling quickly passed, but the broke and sober did not. After much blinking and data rolling, the screen told him that a refrigeration fuse had blown. That happened sometimes when the ship in hyperdrive passed through the neighborhood of a pulsar. The backup coolant system powered up automatically, so it was no big deal if the mains were taken care of within a day or two of 
failure. Evidently, the ship had waited an hour before dropping drive and going to secondary coolant power. Must have been a nasty field, and a big one, whatever it was.

 He had gotten through it, though, and had come out almost exactly in the middle of nowhere.  To port and starboard his screens showed vast white streaks.  He was between two galactic arms.  Outside of intergalactic space, itself, this was the emptiest place in the universe.  Empty, except of course for the lonely sun dead ahead.

He glanced at the floater. Nothing else to look at within fifty thousand light years. It was a Sol-type, a G-zero maybe halfway along the HR diagram. Five planets -- three gassers out in the woods and a couple of terrestrial types in close. One was a sizzler, but the second one out had oceans. Free water. That meant life. And, this far along in its evolution, it could mean oil, maybe even some ore. He decided to take a look. After replacing the cooler fuse, he programmed a short jump. All it did was make him belch. 
The cameras scanned the watery ball beneath him, which was half in shadow. He got the rest of the sounding gear whizzing and clattering away as he did an orbit.

The planet had one continent about the size of Australia, and scads of large islands maybe three or four hundred miles in diameter. The odd thing about them was that the biggest ones were all exactly the same size. He picked one of them and set the equipment to studying it as he went by. The answers he got were bizarre. It wasn’t an island, it was a three hundred mile wide animal that the computer said was similar to the testudinata of Earth. Specifically, the chelonidae clan. He targeted on three more of the big "islands," and got the same feedback. They were all alive.

"I’ll be damned," he told the viewscreen.  When he came around dayside again, he focused the ship’s telescope on one of them.
"I’ll be damned," he said a second time.

It was as advertised. A multi-legged turtle without a head, and there were forests, lakes, rivers, farms, towns and even one city on its back. A symbiotic pair? He wondered if he’d have to deal with both species. He hoped not. He hadn’t the faintest idea how to bargain with a three hundred mile wide turtle.

"Talk about continental drift," he said, sitting back and staring at the thing.

There was oil. Vast areas of this ocean planet were shallow seas that had been habitat for planktonic life for millions of centuries. He decided to see what else the place had to offer.  An hour later, he was cruising over the one landmass at several thousand feet. It was located in the quiet, clear eye of a gigantic cyclone that when viewed from space, except for the color, reminded him of the Red Spot on Jupiter. He wasn’t surprised to discover that it was 
uninhabited.  Whoever lived on this planet obviously lacked the ability to fly at great altitude or to construct ships made of steel. The readouts clearly indicated the inhabitants were pre-industrial.  The atmosphere was clean as a sheet. You don’t mine ore from a turtle. 

There were metals in the sea floor, of course, but undersea operations required machinery. And, without the metals on the sea floor they couldn’t make the machinery to get the metals from the sea floor, let alone make a vessel that could get over, under or through that storm.  A good Catch 22, that. 

He brought the ship down next to a blue lake, and some trees that resembled twisted gray oaks of great age. The air checked out fine. The temperature was fine. There were a few varieties of bugs around so he sent out a multi-freq sonic blast that killed everything within crawling range that hadn’t already been toasted by the landing jets.  Then, he put on his walking boots, his leather flight jacket and, with a .45 caliber military-issue pistol on his hip, left the ship. Standing at the edge of the lake, he watched a raptor lift from a tree on a small island some two hundred yards offshore. It was blue. Raptors, unless they fed on some kind of fish or large insect, meant there were mammals around.

Two ship days later (the planet’s day was 28 hours long) he knew that he had dropped right into the middle of a gold mine. And a silver mine. And a copper mine. It was all there. Bauxite for aluminum. Ferrous oxide for iron. Lead, manganese, titanium, uranium, molybdenum, chromium and you-name-it-ium. And, while company rules dictated that he would have to make a deal with the inhabitants of this world to harvest this metallic bonanza, it would probably be the easiest deal of its kind in history. Even if they knew of the existence of this landmass, which he doubted,  they had never even set foot on it. He had seen their fields.  Some of them were farmers. He had serious real estate to offer. Yes, a deal could be made.

Instead of going home a failure, and losing his ship and the only life he loved, he would return the conquering hero, and earn a bonus the size of New Jersey.  All he needed now was a signed contract for the mineral rights. He lifted ship, did a rainbow over the cyclone and headed for the nearest turtle, all the while wondering less about what the inhabitants looked like than what they wanted.

They were sitting in a hollow that protected them from the sea breeze.  The sun was not as strong as it had been on the landmass.  It reminded Jock of autumn in New York, the way it cast long shadows.  Brn Lee was a holy man of some kind.  Something like the Catholic priest in a tiny Irish village, Jock supposed

"Well," said Brn Lee through the ship’s computer, which had taken three days to learn his language, "we trade for fish and for agricultural products and zwk-grnta."

Jock adjusted his head set. Sometimes these UHF frequencies didn’t like an antenna that was at an angle. "Zwk-grnta?" he said.
"Yes," said Brn Lee. "A strange substance that comes from the sky on very rare occasions. It may be the same material from which your star canoe is made, Jock."

"Metal!" exclaimed Jock. The computer would get it from now on.
"Yes, metal," said Brn Lee. "It is highly prized by our warriors because it can be warmed in a fire and then shaped using zwk-prrg into spear and arrow points."  Jock was beginning to get it. The common prefix meant "object from the sky," or meteor. Grnta meant metal. Since the only other substance one found in meteorites was stone, then prrg must be rock.

"Wait here," said Jock. He walked to the ship, popped inside and went to the sample storage area. He had a big chunk of iron he had picked up on Buick stored in a drawer. Its shape had reminded him of the square bottle that contained his favorite brand of scotch, so he had brought it on board. In a few minutes, he returned to Brn Lee and presented the glob of metal to him.  Brn Lee reached out his long thin arm and simply touched the chunk with one of his three fingers. His thumb remained folded into his maroon leather palm. His heavy lidded, almond-shaped eyes widened as he stared at it. Then they lifted to look at Jock.

"This is a gift?" he asked.

Jock nodded, then remembered the computer didn’t translate body language. "Yes," he said, "it is a gift."

"But this is wealth and power beyond my station," said Brn Lee, retracting his hand.

"No," said Jock quickly, "you do not understand." It had come to him that he might have made a mistake. Some Earth cultures considered a gift an insult if they could not respond with a gift of equal worth. There were western Native American, or Indian, tribes that followed that custom. “In my culture, a gift of this sort is a proof of sincerity in trading agreements. A down payment on a business contract. A gesture of good will to your people."  Brn Lee swiveled his head once. Jock didn’t know if the move indicated comprehension, doubt or a crick in Brn Lee’s long maroon neck.
"Can we make a deal?" he asked.

"I am not sure," said Brn Lee. "Do I understand that you will provide us with more of this metal in trade for our permission to extract it from this place you say exists on our world?"

"That’s about it."

After a brief interval, Brn Lee said, "There is much here that I do not understand, Jock. I will have to inform the religious and warrior castes. There will be a council. Will you give me permission to leave your presence, now, Jock?"

"Of course," said Jock, pushing the glob of iron forward.  With what looked like resistance to taboo, Brn Lee took it, then turned and walked away toward the distant row of low huts that sat not far from the sea. 

Jock watched him stalk off in the awkward manner of his thin-legged species, then returned to the ship to stare out the observation port at the village, and beyond it, the nearby sea.  The haunted feeling was back. His life was the stars. From the day he had graduated from the Interstellar Mining Corporation’s space academy, having earned for the first time in the school’s history the crossed silver pick and shovel of a Stellar Prospector 1st Class before making his first professional exploration jaunt, he had known where he belonged. His discovery of a magnetite deposit on the northern edge of Nix Olympus on Mars during his final thesis trip had won that honor, but the first liftoff had won his heart.
His early successes had given him the reputation of having a nose for paydirt. 

His later failures had gradually worn his reputation down to a stump. This, the company had said in no uncertain terms, had been his last chance. In fact, he should be retired right now, living on a small pension at the end of some dirt road in the Ozarks. It was only the serendipitous failure of a two-buck fuse in the refrigeration system that had provided this opportunity.

This planet’s star was a floater, a wanderer in one of those vast, lonely, dark canyons between galactic arms. Astronomers may have listed it on some chart somewhere, but it was so isolated that it would never have been included on a prospecting list. These travel instruction focused on putting a prospector in a location heavily populated by stars simply because that increased the odds of finding a planetary system. He had been lucky beyond belief to find this planet. He would have to be lucky and crafty to keep it. But, he would rather die than lose the stars.

When Brn Lee returned, Jock was in a very firm frame of mind.

"I have explained your proposal to the Low Council," said Brn Lee.

"And what was the decision?" said Jock.

"They wish to speak with you more,"

"I can understand that," said Jock in a darkly amiable way. "Let’s go and talk to them."

He strapped on his pistol, then, as an afterthought, went to a cabinet and retrieved a small plastic explosive kit of the type he used for breaking out ore samples from a wall of rock. Maybe some fireworks would dazzle the troops. The weather was working up something nasty as they walked toward the small village. A great black line of clouds reaching up toward the stratosphere was approaching. It reached from horizon to horizon. The wind was nervous.

"There are no birds," said Jock.

Brn Lee, pressing his headset into the tiny hole that formed his ear, said, "I did not understand the meaning, Jock. There are no? What does that mean?"

They had no word for bird, thought Jock.

"It’s, uh, a creature I have seen elsewhere. It is common on my planet. You have at least one variety on the great land continent. It … walks on the wind."

Brn Lee looked sharply at him, but said nothing.

They passed some boats pulled far from the water in advance of the storm.

"Outriggers," said Jock. A Hawaiian could figure them out in five minutes.

"The priest wishes to know more about the great continent," said Brn Lee. Jock had an extra headset in the ship, but had decided against bringing it. He didn’t want more than one interpreter. 
The meeting hut was low, and made from large, square cut, interlaced wooden beams that were gray in color. One great post went up from the dirt floor in the center. Actual branches, tipped with dark green leaves splayed out along the ceiling. There were ten aliens (no, he was the alien, wasn’t he) in the one room. 

A block of black wood stood against one wall. On it were several hand-sized rocks flanking his iron gift. It looked like a shrine. Behind this block, the wall was covered with a giant tapestry woven of colored grasses. Jock estimated its value at a New York Sotheby’s auction at around a million dollars. Besides being the only artifact from an unknown culture on an unknown planet, it was beautiful. The mural was of a great sea with a humped island. Flanking the island were floating villages. In the middle of it was a gray tree, obviously the same kind whose wood had been used to construct this meeting hall. Since the other buildings in the village were made of a reddish wood, this tree was obviously of religious significance. 

Above the floating objects was a night sky, and, on each side two white bars that were large in the foreground and which faded into points in the background.  He recognized them instantly.  The two walls of stars, the two galactic arms that swept past their planet.

Standing beneath the tree were two beings like Brn Lee, throwing long shadows, as did the tree, itself. They were wearing no clothing. Flying over the tree was the large blue hawk-like bird he had seen gliding on the updrafts over the land continent. He pointed at the mural.

"That is a representation of the animal you live on," he said.  The beings appeared to be unsettled by that. They all looked at the priest, who wore a full woven robe of colored grass, unlike the others whose habit, like Brn Lee’s was a simple knee-length skirt. The priest ignored the glances, keeping his almond eyes on Jock.
"The land continent,” Jock went on, ”does not … graze. It remains where it is because it is not a living thing, but a great accumulation of dirt and rocks that juts out of the sea. It is a thousand times larger than this … beast … on which your people live."

The priest’s thin maroon lips moved. A whisper came forth.

"What is the manner of this beast you say we live on?" translated Brn Lee.

They didn’t know? The idea had never crossed his mind. But of course. They sailed the surface of their water planet in craft that were almost identical to Polynesian outrigger canoe platforms. They dived in the shallows to retrieve shellfish and crustaceans that piggybacked on the monster, but, having no more lung capacity than he did, had never seen the outer rim of the beast, let alone its legs.   But they were seafarers.  They could determine their position at sea by the few constellations available to them – and their direction of travel by the great white walls of the galactic arms. How could they not know?

"Your boatsmen," he said, ignoring the priest’s question for the moment. "Do they not know this land of yours changes position?"

"Yes," said Brn Lee. "I was a master of a trading vessel, myself. We know that our land floats in the currents because it is supported by the roots of the trunk of the holy tree." He glanced at the mural.  Jock was flummoxed. They didn’t know. The movements of the turtles were so predictable that they thought they were living on a great raft!

"But you must understand that you travel faster than the currents."

"Our holy tree is imbued with love for the sun, and is drawn to it."

Jock looked at the tree in the mural. It was leaning in the opposite direction of the shadows. He began to sweat. There was danger here, he suddenly realized. The steady stare of the priest, the complete silence of the others. The nature of the questioning. There was definitely danger, here. His hand dropped to the grip of his pistol, then moved away. He would kill to survive, but he would only do so for that reason. Killing a partner was bad for business. But, the dogma of religions had also killed. History was replete with examples of that. And, he was challenging their creation myth. Quickly, he changed the subject.

"Uh, the land continent is two thousand of my units of distance to the south," he said quickly. “Your … land is four hundred of those units wide. This continent contains many lakes and rivers, deep canyons … slots in the ground .. and two mountain ranges … piles of rock that rise two of my units of distance into the sky."

He fell silent for a moment. They said nothing. Finally, he went on.
"That creature above your holy tree exists on the land continent. We call them birds. They are found on many planets. It is a descendant of what we call saurians, the same family that generated your … island."

Damn! He had done it, again.

The priest said something.

"The flying being that you call a bird," translated Brn Lee, "does not exist. It was originally a form taken by the evil one to draw our eyes from the truth of the sacred tree. In the battle before all battles, God, who took it for His Voice, cured it of its evil.  Now it appears only to those to whom He speaks.  I apologize for speaking of it and do so only with the permission of the priest."

The natives were definitely becoming restless. Two of them, certainly warriors since they carried spears, began to move into position behind him. The exhilaration of fear coursed through him. He grinned when the priest barked several short words. Brn Lee, trembling (so their nervous system recognized danger) translated.
"The priest has said that you are an evil one, sent here by the gods to test our faith."
                                        ***

Jock sat in the tiny cell and listened to the storm rage outside. The two warriors stood guard outside the door, which was the last in a long hallway. He could hear their whispering voices from time to time. They had taken his .45, but he doubted that they were aware that it was a weapon. The firing chamber was empty and the safety on, so he could hope that they wouldn’t shoot themselves. Being metal, it was probably sitting on the shrine, next to the scotch bottle iron lump.  This was a hell of a mess

His lucky last chance had run into an alien inquisition, and thereby severely limited his chances of making a deal. He could have pulled the pistol and fired it through the roof. That would have cowed the entire crew. But, to what purpose? So he could go back to the ship, fly around the village and burn it to the ground? Flame half of them for being a pack of idiotic religious fanatics? Contracts signed under duress weren’t legal, and the minute IMC crews landed they would hear about the duress.  The other option, just going to the ship and taking off, would accomplish nothing more than a safe landing on Earth, the loss of his job and banishment to some place where the only time guys washed their pickup was when they married their cousin.

Damn!

There was a tapping on the door. After a moment, it swung open. It was Brn Lee

"May I have your permission to enter, Jock?"

"Sure," said Jock. "I don’t get much company these days."  Brn Lee came in, closing the door behind him. He was carrying a tray covered with a grass mat. He placed it on a tiny table next to Jock’s bunk.

"I am sorry this has happened," said Brn Lee.

"Yeah," said Jock. "Me too. Was it the bird that did it?"

Brn Lee visibly flinched. "Do not speak of that!"  Jock swung his legs off the bunk and sat up. He lifted the grass mat and looked under it. He grimaced. The plate was filled with sushi. He glanced from the raw alien fish to Brn Lee.

"It was good of you to think of this, but it would probably kill me if I ate it."

"Why?" asked Brn Lee

"It’s alien protein," said Jock. Brn Lee did not respond. "Listen, friend, I am from another planet in another solar system in one of those white bars on your holy mural. Both of those bars are made of stars like your sun. Billions of them. Without testing this stuff, I cannot eat it. Besides, I wouldn’t eat raw fish if I was home. It’s damn near cannibalism as far as I am concerned. A disgusting habit."

"The priest says the white bars in the sky are the two arms of God, Jock."

"He’s full of crap," said Jock.

Brn Lee remained silent.

"Look," said Jock. "You are a mariner. Have you ever seen or even heard of as much metal as is in my star canoe?"

"No."

"If you have lived here all your life, then can you believe that such an amount of metal could have existed in your own land without anybody’s knowledge?"

"No, that is impossible."

"Then, do you think that even if I did get that much metal from some place you’ve never heard about, I could have brought it here in one of your trading craft? Erected it single-handed, a half a mile from your village, in one night?"

"No, Jock," said Brn Lee.

"Then how the hell did I get it here? Think man, think!"

"You flew it here, Jock, from the stars."

Jock’s mouth dropped open.  "I wha -- what did you say?"

"That I believe you, Jock." 

Jock stood up, walked over to Brn Lee, grabbed his strange maroon, three-fingered hand and shook it. Brn Lee flinched, but did not back away or attempt to remove his hand from Jock’s until Jock did.

"What did that gesture mean?" he said.

"That," said Jock, "is how friends greet in my culture."

Brn Din, who was senior to Brn Lee, stood at the end of the Table of the Grand Council of the Faith.  He was nervous. This was his district, and Brn Lee just one of his village priests.  Why did these things always happen to him?  He was a lander.  He had never been comfortable with the sea, or with those who plied it.  Brn Lee had been a captain before he joined the priesthood, and seafarers were well known for their exaggerated tales.  But, this metal canoe was there.  After repeating the Thirteen Maxims of Mental Stability, he had actually, hesitantly, briefly touched it. 

And the creature, Jock, was right in front of him, wearing clothing of a kind never seen by anyone. 

As Brn Din told his story (well, Brn Lee’s story) to Brn Tu, the Apostle of the Blue Hawk, he was aware that there were certain difficulties with the tale.  Certain parts of it that were flatly contradictory.  But the Spirit of the Tree defined existence as contradictory, didn’t it? Acceptance of the Faith was the only way to maintain sanity in a world of contradictions, and he was definitely sane. Caught in the middle between lofty bishops like Brn Tu and the crude village priests like Brn Lee, total acceptance of the Faith was all that kept him from just swimming out to sea and never returning.  He caught himself in his internal musings just in time to hear the last of Brn Tu’s words.

"You say this being claims to have sailed from the stars."
Brn Tu had a disconcerting habit of asking questions in the form of statements.

"Yes," said Brn Din. "In his metal canoe. These are the words of Brn Lee."

"And, you saw the canoe come to earth, yourself."

"I did not," answered Brn Din. "Nor did Brn Lee. It came at night. No-one saw it fly."

"And, this canoe is made of metal and not wood that has been made to look like metal. This you have seen and determined."

"It is made of metal," said Brn Din, wondering if he was carrying this off okay or making a fool of himself. You could not always tell with these bishops.  They were hard to read.  Brn Tu was subtle. It was said that he had sailed farther south than anyone in history on his Voyage of Submission and had spoken to the Blue Hawk, the Voice of the Grey Tree. Right now his subtlety was expressing 
itself in a kind of demanding silence. Brn Din decided that the old priest wished assurance of the canoe’s substance. "The warriors say it is metal of a kind that even their spearheads cannot scratch," he said, and it appeared to satisfy. 

The ancient cleric turned to the assemblage and addressed them.

"It is obvious that this creature is lying. Flight, except for the Voice of the Gray Tree, is impossible. Forbidden. The amount and type of metal in this structure is so great that it may indicate an alliance between the Feorn Sects, our enemies, and some others we do not know of. It is probably an attempt to attain superiority in the faith. The only question now is what we shall do about it."

"I have a different question, master," said a voice.

It was Den Sen, the chief warrior of the land and the only one not a member of the priesthood allowed in high council. It was a long-standing tradition of a political nature, and designed to both honor the warrior classes and emphasize the limits of their jurisdiction. This was the first time in history a warrior had risen to speak, though the right to do so had always been known. Heretofore, it had been a right that one understood would not be claimed.

"Den Sen is recognized before the Great Council," said Brn Tu with such ease it frightened Brn Din. If that’s the kind of composure it took to become a bishop, he thought, I had best get used to dealing with village priests.

"This creature,” said Den Sen, “has speech, and devices that translate speech. One cannot therefore say that all the devices in his canoe are false. Nor is this creature like any that have been seen in all the voyages of the traders in all the days of our race."

"Perhaps the warrior Den Sen fears the stranger," Said Brn Tu. It was an insult of such proportions that those assembled glanced at each other.  Brn Din, with less natural composure, was filled with horror, stepping back a pace. They all expected trouble to come of it. But, Den Sen did not react with traditional anger -- and that impressed them more than if he had.

"Yes," he said simply, to the shock of those who listened. “I fear this being.”

That admission even unsettled the bishop, Brn Tu, who actually asked a question.

"Why?" he said.

Den Sen paused a moment before answering. "I do not know, master," he said tentatively, "but it is the way of the warrior to expect the blow of surprise. We train long and hard for the unexpected, developing what we call the third eye of the unconscious. With your permission this warrior of warriors presents a caution to the council of the wisest. I have seen this canoe, myself. It has a logic about it that does not come from our people, perhaps even from our world."  He sat down and fell silent.

Brn Tu said the following in a manner of reflection, not of instruction: "It is not the custom of the warriors to speak in council. I have no memory of such in all my years. The wise are foolish who will not pause to listen to the less wise, for it is said that the trunk also depends on the branches. I thank you for your honesty and courage, warrior of warriors. I thank you most of all, however, for the humility it has inspired in me. It is a feeling I have not experienced for more years than you have been alive. I now call you friend of Brn Tu, if you will accept the unimportant honor. The council will direct attention to your doubts."

None who heard this exchange would ever forget it, and the respectful fear all had held for the redoubtable Brn Tu turned to love on the spot. 

Here, indeed, was a leader of leaders.

                                        ***

The line of chanting priests followed the first road down to the sea at twilight. They formed a semi-circle around the senior one and fell silent. Alone, he stepped into the sea. In his hand, he held a clay jar that contained a concentrated narcotic, made from the maroon flower that grew only in a small field on the highest point of the world. He stooped and rinsed the jar with water. Standing, he held the jar upside down to let the last drops of the liquid fall to the sea. Like old blood, the maroon mixture spread and diluted. By the time the light had failed, it had made a great pool far out into the sea, with wings of ever fainter color spreading to either side, but now invisible in the dark.

Now, four outriggers slid from the shore and headed northwest, their woven grass sails canted to catch the easterly trade wind. When they had sailed far out, they reefed sail and drifted with the current. On each craft a monk produced a jar identical to the one the elder had rinsed in the sea. They lifted them to the stars, then rinsed them in the sea, as well. Singing in their whispering voices, they raised sail and running close to the wind, tacked back toward the others.

On the next night, the ceremony was repeated, and yet again on the next. On the fourth night, the elder priest looked at the great white banner across the sky. It stretched along the horizon. He did not rinse the jar in the sea, but turned and began to walk back toward the village. The priests in the outriggers sailed away to the west.

Far below the surface the beast’s great open maw, which had been swinging away from the bad food towards the good food, finally filled with living plankton. The massive paddles on the left side began to ponderously work, again. It did not feel correct to be swimming in this direction at this time, but it did not feel completely incorrect, either. The growth was within.

                                    ***

"Tell your priest that I will take him to the land continent and that I will prove that he lives on the back of an animal."

Brn Lee had just deposited another tray from the ship’s galley on the small cell table. He had been able to follow Jock’s instructions for opening the access port to the ship and finding water and food, but the microwave had been too much for him. The trays thawed on the way to the village. The food was pre-cooked, but ice cold spaghetti, even in tomato sauce, tasted like dead worms.

“I cannot tell the priest anything," said Brn Lee. "He and all the other priests in our … land … have joined together in meeting. I think they are deciding how to kill you."

That night, Jock, a miner who never left his ship unprepared, jammed a tiny wad of plastic explosive under the crude cell door. He inserted a fuse in a cap, crimped it in place with his teeth, stuck it in the plastic and lit it. Then he retreated to the back of the cell and hid behind his grass-filled mattress. When the door went, he rushed out to check on the guards. One had apparently been off on some errand. The other was out cold, but breathing. He picked him up and ran along the hall, threw open the door at the end and rushed out into the night. Several steps from the jail, he dumped the warrior on the ground.

He bounced off several citizens on his way out of town, but they weren’t warriors. His ship was less than a half a mile dead ahead, on the same line as the village main street. When the low buildings were behind him, he glanced at the sky for reference and became instantly confused. The galactic arm was twisted around. He looked back. The jail was on fire. The light illuminated the street. He was heading in the correct direction, no matter what the stars said. In a short time, he came to the ship. Inside, he set the flight deck’s lights to red, strapped himself in the pilot’s chair and in a few minutes lifted off.  It wasn’t until he attained orbit that he discovered why the stars had been in the wrong place. The turtle was swimming south.

Since he had nowhere else to go, except the Ozarks, he decided to stick around and see what happened. Besides, he wanted his pistol back. He’d need it to shoot dinner back home.  It was several days before he figured it out. The spacing between all the turtle islands had been clear enough on first sight. He had taken it to be merely territoriality. But now that he could see his recent abode 
breaking rank and sailing southward, he knew one thing for sure.
"They steer the damn things," he said when it came to him.

Since most of these folks didn’t even know they were on one, that left the priests. That mural with the blue hawk. The arc of the "island" was correct. It had to be the priests. He wondered how they did it. He was wondering still when he headed south toward the land continent, pierced the atmosphere and landed there. He set up shop at the edge of the same lake he had visited previously, and, while waiting for a solution to his problems to come to him, began to poke around to see if he had missed any good ore deposits on his first trip there.

Two weeks later, he decided to take a vacation at the beach. He dropped ship in a small valley a few hundred yards from the shore, then got out and walked to the ocean. The beach, itself was an odd one. He was surprised to see sand because the planet had no moon. No moon meant no tides to speak of. Just the tiny solar effect.

There were only small waves here, in the eye of the eternal cyclone that began fifty miles out to sea and which completely encircled the continent. The planet had a barely discernable axial tilt to the plane of the ecliptic, and the orbit was an elipse of small eccentricity.  There were no seasons. No winter storms. It must have taken millennia to grind the beaches to sand.

Poking around out of habit rather than expectation, he came across something that turned this world upside down. In a sedimentary outcrop, he found a ten foot long fossilized egg. He would go back to the ship and get the x-ray and sonic gear, of course, but he didn’t need it. He sat down on a boulder and stared at the thing. It had to be a damned turtle egg. Since no animal of the bulk of those beasts could ever leave the water, as far as he knew from his limited training in biology, this egg had been laid in the shallow sea beyond the beach.

Musing about it, he came to the conclusion that the great beasts had evolved from a smaller version similar to Earth’s sea turtles.  When they could no longer come to land, they gained the ability of fish to leave their eggs in the sea.  But this, their one and only planetary landmass was where they had always come to continue their species, and so that part of their cycle remained, if only as a symbolic segment. 

And the egg he was looking at?

Once, while prospecting in the coastal mountains of Oregon, Jock had run across the fossil of an ancient bivalve, a clam, with the imprint of an equally ancient sea fern at dead top center of the shell.  This marine odd couple was in a layer of soil at an altitude of twelve hundred feet.  The continent had risen from the sea.
All this reasoning, of course, led to the question of the century.
How often did they breed?  Quite a lot, he suddenly realized, depended on that.

Jock had had to make a bit of a ruckus when he returned to Brn Lee’s turtle. His plan required that he get their attention -- suggest to them that he wielded great power. He roared back and forth over the village until he saw the residents leave on the run, taking even their aged and young with them.  When his instruments told him there was nothing larger than a grasshopper down there, he flamed the whole center of town with the landing jets and set the ship down. He expected the next event would be the attack of the warriors, but he was wrong. Just one warrior came, in the company of Brn Lee. They walked openly to within a hundred feet of the ship and then stopped and waited. Jock went out to meet them. The warrior stretched out his arm. In the three-fingered hand he held Jock’s pistol.  Jock took it.

"Greetings, my friend," he said to Brn Lee. "May I have your permission to speak with you?"

"Most certainly, Jock," said Brn Lee, who was wearing the translation headset. "This is Den Sen, a warrior of warriors."
He removed his headset and put it on the warrior’s head.

"Greetings to you, as well, warrior of warriors," said Jock. "Many victories to you."

"I thank you for your courtesy, Jock," said Den Sen. "Brn Lee tells me that you have returned for a reason, and that it is not to harm us. But, what you have done to our village seems to not support his belief."

"I returned for two reasons,” said Jock, “I wish harm to none of your people. I will pay for the damage I have caused here. I merely wanted to let you know that I also have power.”

"I accept your power, Jock, and recognize that you took care in the manner of demonstrating it. Considering how we have treated you, it is a sign of patience and good intentions on your part."

Now, thought Jock, was the time to gain the full confidence of the military.  “Tell me,” he said, “the condition of the warrior I harmed during my escape.  I carried him from the fire, but could not take the time to help him further.”

“Why do you ask?” said Den Sen. 

“I understand the warrior’s life,” said Jock, “and so know that risk is part of it.  But, I do not take pleasure in causing harm to any but the evil.  While he guarded me, he did nothing to bring me pain.  If he is crippled or dead, I wish to apologize to his family and to compensate them for any financial loss they have suffered as a result of my actions.”

Den Sen stared at Jock for a moment before responding, then said, “He is well and will soon return to duty.  No compensation is necessary.”

“I am glad to hear your words,” replied Jock.

After another moment’s silence, Den Sen said, “It is the way of people to put aside the injury of warriors as expected. If this was the only reason you returned, it is enough for me to offer you the unimportant honor of being named friend of Den Sen.”

“To be called the friend of the warrior of warriors,” said Jock, “is more honor than I deserve.  I will accept it quickly, before Den Sen comes to his senses and retracts it.”

Den Sen made a sudden hooting sound that the translator refused to define, but which Jock was absolutely sure was laughter.  Then the warrior spoke aside to Brn Lee, his words audible to Jock because he was still wearing the headset.  “I would have this being next to me in a fight, priest.”  Then, to Jock, he said, “Tell me, friend, the other reason you have returned.” 

"To save your people,” said Jock.

Den Sen looked at Brn Lee, then back to Jock. "So the young priest was correct. What is it my people need saving from, Jock?"

"Will you guarantee that my ship, my metal canoe, will be left unharmed?"

"We could not damage it with our sharpest spears, Jock, but you have my promise it will not be touched. Nor will you be touched, friend of Den Sen."

"Then come with me to the meeting place of the priests," said Jock. "And bring a senior member of the faith if one is near."

The Temple was on a space near the sea. The ancient Brn Tu had joined them. Jock walked over to the tapestry and pointed to the two floating cities that flanked the back of the great turtle. "Tell me about these," he said.

Brn Tu whispered to Brn Lee, who once more wore the headset, and who translated. "These are the holy cities of the first prophets who came before the land rose from the sea, Jock. The First Ones. Today, one sect of our religion still lives entirely at sea, in craft made of the sacred gray tree; some of them tied together to make floating villages like these. They trade with us, but never come to land."

Jock nodded. "Backup, just in case. I thought so."  How to explain this?

"Brn Tu wishes to know why you ask about them, Jock."

"I will explain in time, but first, my friend, how old is your civilization?"

After a bit, Brn Lee said: "Little is known of the earliest of days because there are no records from those times. It was not until the coming of agriculture that we developed parchment. But Brn Tu says perhaps five thousand years, Jock."

And, now the clincher.

"And does your religion speak of earlier civilizations?"

Brn Lee and the ancient priest talked. Jock couldn’t read alien body language, but there seemed to be a problem. Finally, Brn Lee turned back to Jock.

"We have a reference to such a time, Jock, but do not speak of it often. It is said that a great civilization once lived in our world, but it was wicked and did not follow the commandments of the Sacred Tree. It perished in a storm that covered the whole world."

That was it.

"Do you trust me?" asked Jock.

"Yes, I do, my friend," said Brn Lee.

"Then, follow," said Jock  He left the temple and walked to the ship. Opening the access port, he pointed at them and then at the door. The old priest began to back away, but the warrior restrained him. With Brn Lee leading the way, they entered the vessel with Jock right behind them. He set two of them on the nearby bunk and put the warrior in the second flight chair. Then he lifted off.  Their terror was obvious, but they did not panic. Jock wondered if he were thrust into an equally strange and magical situation how he would hold up. Once out of the atmosphere, he kept enough thrust on to provide a floor for them then waved them to the viewports and screens. 

They saw the scene that he had viewed on the way back to their 
village. All the turtles were heading towards the land continent. And, they saw the great storm around it. 

They were weightless for a few moments when he began re-entry, and made louder whispering sounds than he had heard before. But the atmosphere gave him something to thrust against, and their world was once more oriented properly. They stood at the viewports as he brought the ship to their home and landed in the same spot in the middle of their village.  He opened the port and helped them out to the ground.  They stood there, silent.

"Your priest here," said Jock, pointing at the old one, "knows full well you exist on the back of a great sea beast. In fact, he knows how to direct its travels."

Brn Lee whispered to them.

"What he may not know, though I suspect he does, is that his legend of an earlier civilization is true, and in fact has probably been true many times over. Your world civilization has been destroyed and rebuilt over and over again."

"Brn Tu asks how you know this, Jock."

"On the great land continent, I found an ancient egg. The birth container of a creature … the kind of creature you live on. It did not hatch, but turned to stone. This is a natural process which I understand, and can teach you about if you wish. It is true, and I can show you it is true."

The old priest whispered to Brn Lee, who turned once more to Jock.

"And if this is true, Jock, what has it to do with us?"

"The egg proves that this creature on which you live is a kind of testudinata.  A chelonidae -- no don’t worry. It will not translate. On my world, It is commonly called a turtle -- and that will not translate, either. But, your beast is one of these I describe, and like some of those on my planet, it lives at sea, but returns to a traditional place to lay its eggs.  To reproduce its species.”

Now came the tough part.  He could not voice his suspicions about the old priest’s intentions, since they involved wiping out his flock to protect the faith. But he had to let Brn Tu know that he knew the alteration of the animal’s course was an intentional one.  Brn Lee and Den Sen weren’t dummies.  They’d get it eventually, but right now, Jock didn’t need a war with the church.

"Tell your superior, Brn Lee, that when he turned this beast to the south, all the other beasts of its kind joined it. Tell him that he cannot deny it because he has seen it in the company of others."

Brn Lee removed the headset.  There was an animated conversation.  Jock thought he might be starting to understand their body language and intonation.  The young priest and the warrior did most of the talking.  The old priest looked distinctly uncomfortable. Finally, Brn Lee put the headset back on.
"Why did the other beasts join it, Jock?"  he asked.

"I don’t know, my friend," said Jock. "Perhaps they communicate like whales -- a mammal that lives in the seas of my world. Perhaps it was simply their time, and had the priests waited a few days, it would have happened, anyway. And, there is the possibility that they are merely like schools of tiny fish which swim and turn in unison."

Den Sen said something.  Brn Lee translated.

"The warrior of warriors wishes to know the nature of our danger, Jock."

"It is obvious that although they never do it at other times, these beasts can submerge completely when they have need to. And, because of the great storm around the land continent, they must submerge to pass it and get to the places where they reproduce. From your legends, I’d say they do that about every five thousand years, which explains the floating religious sect. All those living on the backs of the beasts die when they enter the cyclone that surrounds their breeding grounds, or shortly thereafter when the animals submerge."

Jock fell silent as the three of them talked. Finally, the old priest said something and Brn Lee turned once more to Jock.  "Brn Tu wishes to know how even with this star canoe you can save the people. It is too small to hold even those who live in this village."

The crafty old bastard. Or, the stupid old bastard.  It didn’t make much difference.  But, no matter what, his religion was going to change. 

"I will take those who are selected, up to a number equal to ten hands of fingers of villages, to the land continent where they may begin a new life. The sacred gray tree grows there in abundance. I will then take Brn Tu and the greatest of his order to the twenty beasts closest to the land continent, and so the cyclone. They will instruct the people of these places, and send out canoes to tell the others.

"Finally, I will carry the trunks of the sacred gray tree, the wood that never becomes waterlogged -- which sure as hell explains why ocean-living people worship them -- in great numbers from the forests where you will cut them. They will provide a life on the sea for those who wish to join the priests who never come to land. I can help but a few, uh, numbers of villages, of the people of your world in this manner because -- God Damn, how can I get this across? -- because the special wind required by the sails of my star canoe -- I have got to wipe this from my recordings or I’ll be a joke in every bar in Pittsburgh -- must be conserved so I can return to my home. At any rate, I can help you save many.  For the first time in thousands of cycles, more than your priesthood will survive the fall."

He blinked and took in a breath. He had always hated contract negotiations.

"Brn Tu asks why do you do this for us?" said Brn Lee.

"Well," said Jock, now on more comfortable ground, "I am a prospector. I wish to acquire mining rights to the ore deposits on the southern continent. My species treasures them."

The old priest said something to Brn Lee, who turned to Jock.  “Some will wonder why do you not simply fly away and let us die, then bring your people back and take what you want.  I do not say this, myself.”

“I could not do that, even if I wished to,” said jock. “My people have established laws concerning such things.  If I did not help you, I would be punished.  Probably executed for crimes against a peaceful intelligent species.”

Jock could guess the meaning of the whispering, this time.

“Brn Tu asks what you will do if we do not accept your proposal.”
This was it.

“I will help you exactly as I have described,” answered Jock. “My laws aside, I could do no less for a friend.  You and the warrior of warriors are my friends.”

More whispering.  They glanced at him several times, but he could not read anything on their maroon, alien faces.  Den Sen, the warrior, spoke to Brn Lee last, ending his speech by raising his spear to the vertical, then bringing the butt of it hard to the ground. 

“Brn Tu has spoken of testing your statements, Jock, but Den Sen said that we already have.  The fact that you returned when you did not have to is proof enough for him. Brn Tu says he cannot speak for the others in our world, but believes that few, once they understand the situation, will object."

Understand the situation? thought Jock  All hell will break loose when the people of this planet understood the situation. "Ship recorder, emphasize, tag and scope voice component pattern,” said Jock.  “Then, we have a deal, Brn Lee?"

"The trading arrangement you have described is accepted, Jock."

Six months later, Jock had just enough thruster fuel to break free of the planet of the chelonidae, but he was on his way and with a big find in his pocket. More of the maroon-colored folks than he had originally thought would be saved. The priests had a brew the same color as their hides that when poured into the sea made the turtles turn away. That bought them a little time. With the new floating towns made from every bit of wood they had, plus all their outriggers, plus the ever-floating forest he had dropped to them, most all would make it until the Interstellar Mining Corporation’s fleet of roomy ore freighters slid down to get them.

It was on the last day planetside that he said goodbye to Brn Lee. They were standing near the beach on the southern continent. A blue hawk sailed far overhead, working the updraft on a thousand-foot bluff.

"Did you ever think you’d see one of those?" asked Jock.

"It is clear to all that we cannot return to old beliefs. They will no longer be real to us. So much has changed. So very much."

"I understand," said Jock. And, he did.

"I will miss the sea," said Brn Lee, staring across the water to the distant dark line of clouds that encircled his new land. "I am not a farmer and no longer a priest. I grieve that I cannot ever again take my canoe past the storm that guards it."

"You could if you had a submarine," said Jock.

"And, that is?"

"A metal turtle the size of my ship," said Jock. "You ride inside the shell instead of on top of it. My government makes a version that runs on the same power as your sun. I’ll buy you one for Christmas."

                               
 (C) copyright 2003 -- Larry Leonard