“Father built up the sides of the wood bridge by using mud, though,” John said. The rain had washed the bridge away, too. But it had always held against previous rainfalls. Maybe he could do something with mud and stone? He looked around. There was no shortage of mud. Pools where the rainfall had collected and been unable to run off dotted the landscape, and there was the river itself.
Would any mud work? Some of the silt from the riverbed was made of fine sand, while the mud he’d fallen into during the storm was thick, sticky stuff. He had a feeling that the sticky mud would work better to hold rocks together.
John went back to his old spot on the riverside, or as close as he could find. The river had changed its course because of the storm, cutting a new channel in some places. But he found a sandy beach with plenty of sunlight, which would work well for his purpose. He gathered a pile of rocks onto the sand while the deer stood nearby and watched him work.
That done, he stripped off the tattered remnants of his grass clothing. That was something else he ought to fix. He looked around and saw new shoots of grass coming up through the torn up ground. It wasn’t long enough to use yet, but it would be in time. Laying what was left of his garments on the beach, John waded into the water to collect mud samples.
The first was mostly wet sand. He looked at the stuff dubiously. It didn’t look like it would hold anything together. But he laid out three stones in a row and poured the wet sand over them, then placed three more rocks on top. Going back into the chilly water, he collected more sand to lay on top of that layer, and then placed more stones above. He left the small wall to dry and went looking for another sort of mud that might work better.
Wading across to where the river had cut a new path, he found it had exposed a different colored soil. This dirt was gray, instead of brown or yellow. He touched the stuff. It was sticky, tacky even. John smiled. This was a lot like the mud he’d floundered in during the storm. He had a sense it might work for what he was trying to accomplish. He hauled a huge double-handful back to the shore where his rock pile waited. Then he carefully laid out three stones again, smearing the gray mud on top of them, then laid more rocks and more mud before adding the third layer.
John glanced over at his first pile to check on the work. One of the stones had already fallen. He touched the sand layer between the rocks. It had dried out, but it wasn’t holding the stones together. A gentle nudge sent the entire pile toppling over.
He looked back at the new pile, drying in the sun. With luck, the gray mud might be sticky enough to hold even after it had dried out.
While he was waiting for the experiment's results, John went back to his lean-to. He’d already decided to build the new house next to it. He could use the cliff as one side of his home, saving the construction of one wall and adding support to the side walls. But did he want dirt or stone as the foundation beneath him? Dirt would be easier to manage. He could dig holes in the soil and place posts into the holes for the corners of the home, just as his father had done. He’d repaired the old house enough times to know precisely how it was built. It would be easier to build, shoring up the sides with rock.
But the old house had failed because water had washed away the soil around those corner posts until they toppled. If it had done so once, it could again. He wanted to build something no weather could ever obliterate, so he opted to build atop a large piece of flat, exposed rock instead.
He picked a spot for a corner post, and tried to hammer out a hole with a large rock. The stone surface chipped away, a little bit at a time. It was exhausting work, but there was progress. Then his rock cracked down the middle, turning into two slices of stone. John swore under his breath. He grabbed the bigger piece and continued working at the hole, but it too shattered after just a few more strokes.
John looked down at what he’d managed. The hole was more of a shallow depression, not even deep enough to fit an apple. This wasn’t going to work.
He stopped and leaned back against the cliff, thinking. If he couldn’t dig a hole to support something, he would have to build up around it to create support. That was plausible, but only if his mud mortar would hold. John checked the sun. It had moved a few fingers since he left the beach. He decided it was time to go back and check the progress.
Eleven
The mud had set around the stones, forming a hard, cake-like substance that held together—at least somewhat. They still toppled over if John pushed on the wall hard enough, but it felt like a good start. With wooden support beams, and maybe a double layer of rocks instead of a single pile…? John was confident he could find a way to make it work. He was going to need a lot of the gray mud, though.
Carrying it all by hand wasn’t going to work, so John gathered bundles of small, thin branches from where they lay scattered over the ground. Then he pulled vines clinging to the ruined trees. There was more than he needed, so he grabbed extra for later. John was going to need a lot of rope for everything he had planned.
With a little effort and time, he braided the thin sticks and vine into a viable basket. The sticky mud was still going to leak out through the sides, so he packed the gaps with fallen leaves. It wasn’t perfect, but he expected it to hold.
This whole job would have been easier if the tools and supplies his parents had built over the years were still around. He was having to rebuild everything from scratch, so each new piece of the home was taking longer than it ought to.
A log frame, tied together by vine, would form the base for the house. He looked at the collection of branches he’d turned into his shelter. Most of them were too short and thin to work. A few were longer, but they were different lengths. John looked at the one cutting tool he had left, the sharp stone hanging from a bit of rope around his neck. It had saved his life during the storm, but it wasn’t going to be enough to cut through logs. A small shard of the rock, which had split earlier in the day, might do the trick, though. He found it and tested the edge. It felt sharp enough to cut into wood without too much trouble.
John found a short, thick branch with a split on one end and slid the sharp rock into the gap. Then he tied it in place with vine, trying to approximate a tool he vaguely recalled his father using once when John was a child. The rock wiggled in place when he played with it. John frowned. That wasn’t going to work. He undid the vines and tried again. It took another dozen attempts before he had the stone secure enough that he felt confident it wasn’t going to fall apart with the first swing.
He tested it on a fallen tree. The makeshift tool didn’t come apart on the first swing, or the second. It lasted until the fifth strike, which took out one last chip from the log before the vines snapped apart, dropping the stone to the ground.
“Damn it!” John slammed his foot into the log and immediately regretted it. His smarting toes added to the frustration from legs already in pain. He sank down to take a seat on the log he’d been trying to cut.
He was exhausted, and there was still so much to do. He hadn’t even begun constructing a house. Not a real one anyway. Food was still scarce and becoming more so. His apple tree was almost bare of fruit, and the few other fruits and nuts he’d been able to gather weren’t going to last. He had hopes that the surviving trees would bear more fruit soon, like they always had. But so far, nothing new had sprouted from their branches.
John was hungry all the time now, and it was taking more effort to keep going. But if he ate more, he might run out of food before anything new grew. He couldn’t risk it.
A familiar rustling got John’s attention. The deer was coming toward him. He hadn’t even noticed that it had wandered off. His attention had been wholly focused on making the axe work, and the deer had become a constant companion, always nearby, watching him work. It was carrying something green in its mouth. At first, John thought it was eating some of the greenery, but it wasn’t chewing. Instead, it carried the load carefully, lengths of green dangling from its mouth on either side like it had a verdant mustache. The thought m
ade John crack a smile despite his exhaustion.
“What have you got there?” John asked, barely able to lift his head to address his new friend.
The deer took a few steps to close the gap between them, and then leaned forward, depositing the green stuff it was carrying at John’s feet. Wet plants, John thought at first. Then he recognized the stuff as plants which grew under the water in the river. The deer had uprooted the entire plant—both the green part which was visible, and the long root which dug down into the soil. The result was a single length of thin plant that looked a lot like the vines he’d been using for rope.
John picked up a length of the stuff. Where the vines had been brittle and hard to twist, this stuff was flexible. It bent and tied easily in his hands. He held one end of the plant in each hand and yanked gently, testing the strength. It didn’t break. He pulled harder and it still resisted. Strong and supple. It was precisely what he needed. Far better for the work of tying things together than the vines had been.
“This will be perfect. Thank you!” John said.
The deer simply nodded at him before dashing off toward the river again. John was left alone to wonder, how smart was this animal? It was either unable to speak or disinclined to do so, but that didn’t mean it was dumb. It clearly knew what he was trying to accomplish, and it was able to suggest a better material than he’d been aware existed.
Was the deer smarter than him? It was difficult to say without being able to discuss anything, but it didn't matter. He was more certain than ever he not only had company but an ally.
The new rope made re-creating his axe head a snap. Even with the new tool, cutting the wood was tiring work, but he was actually getting somewhere. Before dusk arrived, he broke one trunk into a pair of logs the size he needed. It had been a long day, and he’d managed more than he would have thought possible only a few days earlier.
He had a basket, and an axe, and a source for rope that was far better than he imagined. The gray mud was workable to hold stone together, so he expected the house would be much stronger than the old shelter.
John wandered back over to his lean-to, exhausted from the work. He wasn’t used to expending so much effort, and his muscles burned. The leg wound was healing rapidly, though. He was amazed how quickly and efficiently the wound was knitting itself back together again. The skin was already entirely healed over, although the area around the injury was still bright with angry reds and purples. Another couple of days and his leg would be as good as new.
He ate a full meal that night from his limited reserves. He’d earned it, he figured. Keeping up his energy to allow him to continue working hard each day was essential. But he walked over to the last tree that still bore fruit and a nut tree nearby. He figured he had another couple of days before he ran out. It was going to be a problem, and he didn’t have a good solution. The injured trees would produce more food again eventually, but would it be in time?
Despite these worries, John drifted into a deep slumber almost immediately after he lay down. It had been a long day, and the next would be more of the same. Tired as he was, he felt a sense of accomplishment and success that had been missing since his mother’s death. He fell asleep with a smile on his face.
Twelve
Experiment 42 Log
Despite my reservations regarding the severity of the measures taken, they appear to have been successful, at least insofar as the subject’s activity level. Food intake has returned to baseline. Activity level has increased far beyond previously observed levels.
Adversity, if my hypothesis is correct, operates as a direct stimulus to action for this species. The greater the adverse conditions, the more action will be elicited as a response. Further tests will be required to verify this, but the evidence collected to date appears to support the idea. It is possible that this only works for external adverse conditions, however. The subject animal seemed poorly equipped to cope with the internal adversity of isolation. Add external challenges and it thrives.
A fascinating evolutionary trait.
“You stepped in it this time, Felizian. You didn’t just go in and meet the animal. You directly intervened and helped it!” Kantrobil said.
Felizian looked up from the screen and turned slowly to face his fellow scientist. The charge was accurate, and he wanted a minute to collect his thoughts before replying. He still wasn’t entirely sure why he had shown the human an alternate material from which to shape its tools. It had felt like the right thing to do in the moment, but with more thought, he wasn’t as certain. Had he undermined their work by doing so? He didn’t think so, but—
“You almost killed it,” Felizian replied, at last. “That storm was orders of magnitude more severe than was required. One of those lightning bursts could have struck the animal, and then where would we be?”
Kantrobil huffed. “The safety protocols were in place. It was never in much actual danger.”
“The human was wounded by debris from an explosion…”
“Which the nanites we introduced have already mostly repaired.”
“…and was almost washed into the ravine!” Felizian finished.
“His fall would have been halted by our flier. We would simply have rewritten his memory and placed him back in the pen,” Kantrobil said. “There was never any significant danger.”
But the human didn’t know that, Felizian thought. It had acted to preserve its own life, showing courage and ingenuity in the process. The human had not only survived without their help, it had gone on to begin rebuilding what it had lost in the storm. In fact, unless he was very wrong, Felizian was fairly sure it intended to rebuild a better shelter. Far from losing hope in the destruction, the animal was even more determined to create security for itself. It was…impressive.
“We’re going to need to intercede again,” Felizian said with a flick of his ears. He shuffled his hooves, staring down at them a moment before going on. “The animal’s food sources are nearly depleted.”
“We can simply trigger the trees to grow more food,” Kantrobil said. “This is not a concern.”
“We could, but I worry that the human will perceive that as unusual. We might end up having to doctor its memories in that case, and you know that's not optimal,” Felizian said. He detested that practice. It represented an unnecessary medical intervention. If the scientist was careful enough, it should rarely be required.
“What do you propose?” Kantrobil asked.
“We show it another food source. Something it hasn’t considered as food before, but which has appeared to be growing in the pen all along,” Felizian said.
“Make a new food source?” Kantrobil said. “It’s…plausible. Would it eat something strange? You saw how it reacted to the euthanasia plant after its mother died. Will it trust something new?”
“If the new food is introduced by someone it trusts, I think so,” Felizian said.
“You want to eat something to prove to the human it is edible?”
“That was more or less what I had in mind, yes,” Felizian said. Their biology was not so different. He could show the human a food without taking a personal risk.
It would be simple to engineer one of the plants already growing in the pen to produce sustenance. He had in mind to turn one of the weeds into a tuber, so the food would be beneath the soil. The human would believe it had never seen the food before because it had never dug up one of the plants. The food could appear to have been there all along, even though they had just introduced it.
“Fine. But I will handle this intervention,” Kantrobil said.
“You?” Felizian replied, surprised. “You never enter the animal pens.”
“We’ve already had more interaction with this one than I prefer. Better that we have a more neutral head handle this interaction, don’t you think?” Kantrobil said.
“I…” Felizian started to protest that he was as neutral as ever. But was that really so? He’d just been thinking earlier that the human’s action
s had impressed him. That wasn’t the sort of observation a neutral party would have. Was his subjectivity compromised when it came to this animal? He would need to examine his emotions carefully to be sure.
“I think that is adequate,” Felizian replied at last. “I will prepare the food and seed the pen with it while the animal sleeps overnight. You can handle this interaction in the morning.”
Thirteen
John woke energized and ready to get to work. The previous day had been full of discoveries. What new ones would this day bring? He got up swiftly—and cracked his head on the center log of his lean-to.
“Ow!” John shouted, sinking back to his knees. “Stupid log. I will not miss you when the new house is built.”
He resolved to redouble his efforts to get the new place done. There was no telling when another storm might blow in. He needed his home to be ready before it happened. On top of that, the rising lump on the top of his skull told him it was time to switch to quarters with more head room.
John stepped outside into the early morning daylight and was met with another surprise. The deer was there, waiting for him. It stood a few paces away, just far enough to let John know the animal didn’t fully trust him. On the ground between them, the deer had deposited a pair of things that looked edible. They were similar to apples, but they were brown and had bits of dirt on them.
“Old apples?” John asked the deer. They didn’t look like rotten apples, though. They didn’t look rotten at all. Were they food? He recalled the lesson of the berry bush. Not everything that seemed like food was harmless.
The deer shook its head. Then it leaned in and took a nibble of one of the strange fruits. John watched the deer, looking for any sign that the bite was causing it harm. Of course, his mother hadn’t shown any symptoms until after they’d both fallen asleep. Near as John could tell, she had drifted off and never woken again.
The Human Experiment Page 5
