Shaman Machine the Mentor

by Trenlin Hubbert

  The hoist-bot listened for the signal. With a gear box at its midsection, the hoist looked like a heavy duty fishing rod attached to bird legs, terminating in bird feet that currently gripped a perch bolted to the deck. Kris directed the h-liner to troll closer to the newest floating bag. To make their job easier, the belly of the boat was settled low, nearly touching the water. Using his hooked pole, Kris pulled the bag close enough for the hoist to snatch it up. Sensing the weight, the hoist gears began to softly whir as it carried the fish aboard. In secure possession of the fish bag, the hoist hopped from the perch to the deck.

  Kris led the way to the refrigerator with the hoist stalking a few steps behind him. Opening the freezer portal, Kris led the hoist inside. The hoist waited quiescently while Kris removed the beacon from the fish bag then pointed with a laser at an empty upper shelf. Bird legs telescoping, the hoist reached the upper shelf. It bent and flexed as though alive, to deposit the fish using a graceful sweeping motion. After releasing the catch, the hoist recoiled to its original height. While they were still in transit back to the bow, the hoist picked up another signal. Enlivened by anticipation, it hopped to its perch and assumed a position of alacrity.

  Stroking his forearm device, Kris granted approval for the h-liner to pursue the next fish bag. In rapid response, the h-liner accelerated smoothly as it gave chase for the next bag of catch. This is going well, Kris thought. They had arrived to the Ridge yesterday, and planned to stay long enough to fill the freezer with fish. Before setting out for the Aleutian Hills, they needed to also harvest seaweed. Ever since they’d made the decision, Kris could feel the mutual innervation as everyone accustomed themselves to their new destination. In preparation for the journey, Kris had been diligently reviewing the sat-map describing the seven undersea hills that comprised the Aleutians. The hills themselves were far beyond physical reach, since no one on the team had the equipment, nor even the experience to dive that deep. The tip of the highest mountain in the circular grouping was, an utterly unreachable, three kilometers beneath the surface of the sea. His fascination with the deep ocean topography remained, despite its inaccessibility.

  More than two years before their arrival to Varun, Kris had already begun studying the geomorphology of the planet. Even though Kamarong Island was the only land form to climb out of the water to pierce the air; the ocean floor of Varun had a very diverse terrain that included canyons, hills, mountain ranges, plateaus and valleys. Kris hoped one day to travel into the deep to witness these formations in person. But for now, Kris had been set on targeting the Aleutian Hills because they seemed a good bet for promoting a diverse fish population.

  Kneeling topless on the deck, Cady placed the delicate bit of dried bone into the stone bowl she was holding in the palm of her hand. She picked up the pestle. Rolling its tip with a practiced motion, she ground the bone to a fine dust. Splayed around her were the fruits of her efforts. Some of the jars were still empty while others held powder that when examined alone, appeared to be white. But by comparing the various jars of powder, one with another, a subtle variation in tint could be detected. The line of jars so far held powders in the subtlest hues of blue, yellow and rust. Focused on her task, Cady scrupulously scooped out the newly ground powder, carefully moving it from the pestle bowl to one of the empty jars. Cady smiled at her own handiwork. The powder she had just pulverized showed the palest possible hint of pink.

  Cady prepared the powder to use as paint. She worked in miniature; applying glue with a fine brush then blowing the color into place with the help of a tiny straw. The h-liner was her canvas, and centimeter by centimeter she was transforming it into a delicately nuanced floating mural.

  “Is that from the latest catch, Cady?” Solomon asked.

  Cady responded without looking up. “Oh no, this is from my stash. The new stuff won’t be ready anytime soon.”

  They’d spent much of the previous week catching and cleaning fish. Consequently, Cady had a fresh new pile of bones that she’d set out to dry on a section of deck she had long ago claimed for this purpose. Once the bones had substantially dried, she would pick through them and decide which ones to keep. The rest, she would toss back to the ocean. Cady pressed the cap on the jar, and placed the pink tint next to the others. On reaching for another piece of bone, she realized Solomon had been standing oddly still for a very long time.

  “Solomon, what are you up to?” she asked.

  Occupying the point of the bow, Solomon turned his lanky body around to face her. Leaning his lower back into the railing, he posed with his arms stretched out to either side. His long fingers, he wrapped around the top bar. Like Cady, he wore only water pants and shoes. “Maybe I'm just resting,” he said, “We've been working nonstop for weeks.”

  Cady squinted at Solomon. Not relenting, she contended, “No-o-o-o. You never rest.”

  “I rest!” Solomon laughed, “I just don't invite you when I do.” His dark eyes mirrored an impish light.

  “Copulating is not resting,” Cady insisted.

  Solomon mimed shock.

  “Well, if you're going to make me guess….” Cady ostentatiously tilted her head, first to one side then to the other, revealing smudges of powder on her jaw. She pressed her lips into a straight line and scrunched her brow. “Are we getting close to The Seaweed Plain?”

  Solomon instantly shifted his expression to one of candor. “I'm not sure.” His voice was earnest. “According to the coordinates I got from that weeder, we should be just about on top of it. But I can’t see anything. Nothing. I typed the coordinates into the sat-map, but nothing showing. Still, we’re talking about a floating mat of seaweed, only a few meters thick. Nobody even knows how large an area it covers. And those guys who harvest the weed are into secrecy. Maybe he gave me false coordinates. It's the whole ego trip around being the weed source. I told him, we definitely won’t gift it. I told him, we need it to get to the Aleutians…so….”

  “Well, we have to find it,” Cady stated, “No way, can we set off for the Aleutians without greens.” She placed another bone in her bowl and Solomon also returned to task, searching the silvered panorama.

  Cady was pleased to have a new color to play with. Because the tints were so subtle, the powders could not be effectively mixed. Blending the yellow with the blue produced gray; adding blue to rust also made gray. Cady had begun noticing variations in the colors of the fish bones back in the days of their earliest forays to the ridge. Those original expeditions had been expressly intended as practice runs to develop their survival skills. Most of her memories from that time comprised of cleaning a lot of fish. It was during that time she came to realize the intimacy inherent in taking the life of a creature, you meant to eat.

  Shooting her very first fish was thrilling. She’d felt so capable dispatching her first kill to the surface. But then she came aboard. Her target lay on the deck. Right before her eyes, the scintillating beauty of its scaled flesh lost vibrancy, rapidly dimming to a lifeless shade of gray. Witnessing the change sobered her. She cried while slicing open its gut to remove the strip of organs. After that, she cried even as she shot them. Even though she knew detachment would be easier, she never allowed herself to refrain from regarding every detail of their beauty. She noted how gracefully, they flew through the waters of their planet. She was touched by the power of their struggle to resist death, once pierced by her spear. As they lay in bejeweled piles on the deck, she saw how hopelessly, they gasped with lips and gills. Sitting in the carnage with tears trailing her face, she noticed the delicacy of the bones. She noticed the rainbows of light shining through the transparent tips.

  Cady had already produced three more jars of powder when Solomon yelped excitedly. Having just secured the lid on the most recent one, she conscientiously placed it beside the others before getting up and trotting over to join him. Solomon pointed to a dark line on the horizon.

  “Do you see that?” he asked, his face animated by the clear knowledge that she must. />
  “I see it. Where's Kris?”

  “Last I know, he was poring over his maps,” he answered. Cady spun to dash off, but Solomon leaped ahead of her, his long legs sprinting. Laughing like a boy, he shouted back to her, “I'll get him!”

  As they drew closer, the seaweed mat came to resemble a tilled field. They had been told about the peculiar configuration caused by wave action on the weed; nevertheless, the artificial appearance was a confounding sight. Significantly, after so much time on the water (and even the black sand island), the emerald view was an incredibly pleasing view. So, the three of them loitered along the bow railing to stare at the scene while developing a strategy to safely harvest the seaweed. The thick matting posed an extreme danger because it formed an impenetrable barrier to resurfacing. They’d heard the stories about people falling through, never to be seen again.

  As they drew closer to the floating meadow, Cady decamped to the pilot room to manually engage the h-liner. First, she dropped the body of the boat until it sat at a low crouch with its belly set level with the skis. Cautiously, she eased the ship forward until the front half of the skis were tucked in the seaweed thicket. Direct contact with the weed caused the h-liner to rock in sympathetic cadence with the waves. The roll of the deck was an unanticipated side affect. So, Cady navigated with special caution as she rejoined the men at the bow. By now it was dusk. Nothing further would be accomplished. For a time the three stood in contemplative silence while gazing at the green.

  CHAPTER 23

  The early morning rush was in full swing at the Double Moon Café. “Tazo!” Alex blared above the din. Heads turned as Alex leaped from his chair and rushed a man stepping through the door.

  Despite his age the old man was quick, tossing up two defensive hands.

  Looking perturbed, Alex jerked to a stop. “What?” he lamented, “no hugs? It’s been a long time. More than a year.”

  Tazo smiled, crinkling the skin around his almond eyes. “I’m getting old, Alex,” he said. Spreading his hands to open his arms, he added, “Please don’t break me.”

  Gently enfolding him, Alex said, “I’m pretty certain you could still land me on my head; so I’ll do as you say, Old Man.” Ushering him to the table, Alex reverently announced, “This is my good friend and mentor, Tazo. Tazo, this is Joud.” Alex pulled out a chair, and solicitously waited for the old man to settle before seating himself.

  “You at the Poseidon?” Alex asked Tazo.

  Tazo shook his head. “No. I got lucky. I have a friend who started out on the island; but decided she’d rather seastead. Since her place was unoccupied, she gifted it to me. It’s over on Central.”

  “Perfect!” Alex said.

  Abruptly, Tazo pointed an accusing finger at Alex. “I just realized what’s different about you!”

  Looking humored and vaguely perplexed Alex asked, “Oh, and what would that be?”

  “Your clothes,” Tazo said.

  “I always dress in the local style,” Alex contended, “Hell, I’m an anthropologist.”

  “True you copy the cut; but where’s the shimmer?” Tazo teased.

  Joud and Alex shot each other a knowing look then Alex laughed. “Here’s how the story goes,” Alex began. “You are correct. I arrived with a beautiful selection of metallic clothes. I took all but what I was wearing over to a place called Peddler Jek. It’s down near the beach. Everyone said ‘the Peddler’ was THE place to go for printing and reprinting clothes.”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I got the same advice” Tazo interrupted, motioning to his own costume as evidence.

  “Okay, then you know. So, as I was saying, I dropped off everything...every single article of clothing I had, except the pair of pants I was wearing. I was even barefoot,” Alex explained. “I was really looking forward to the transformation because I love the local styling. The cropped pants. The bloused shirts: I love how they drape! And the water shoes! Oh dear gods, I adore the water shoes! So, I was pretty excited to have them done, using my signature metallic fabrics. Well, when I finally went to pick them up, day before yesterday; everything looked utterly amazing!” Eyes gleaming, Alex paused before declaring, “My absolute favorites were the nickel pants with nickel shirt! Paired with some coppery shoes: to die for!”

  Endeavoring to repress his laughter, Joud began to vibrate. “To die for,” he coughed up.

  Releasing only half a smile in Joud’s direction, Alex continued, “Okay, so I decided to wear the nickel and copper combination, first. So, Joud and I leave the hotel. We set off for the beach. As usual, there’s a lot of activity on the beach. Joud and I are weaving through the chaos and this ‘steader notices me. So---”

  “He wasn’t the only one to notice,” Joud interrupted, “Everyone was looking.”

  “I suppose,” Alex said. “So anyway, the ‘steader steps in front of us, blocking our way. His arms are crossed. He has muscles on top of his muscles. Looking at me like I’m a buffoon, he says, ‘I ought to just go ahead and let you hit the waters like that; but I can’t…not in good conscience. After all’, he says, ‘ once upon a time, we were all new. And we all need a bit of looking out for.’ I tell you what, Tazo, this guy was definitely the real deal; a real seasteader. He had the shaved head and shaved body. His clothes were so well worn, they were nearly worn out. I could even smell him.” Alex wrinkled his nose. “So, I said the obvious. ‘Shouldn’t hit the waters like what?’ I asked.” Alex paused to glance bemusedly at Joud. “Then as if the ‘steader had too much contempt to even look at me; he kind of shifted his body, giving me a bit of back, and spoke to Joud instead.”

  Joud laughed out his nose.

  Ignoring Joud, Alex told Tazo, “So, he says to Joud, ‘Look, I know when you drifters first get here, you think catching the biggest fish somehow proves something. You’re a big guy,’ he says to Joud, ‘so maybe you think you can pull in the biggest fish of all.’”

  Joud guffawed.

  Alex finished, “‘But really,’ the guy says to Joud, ‘it is just plain wrong to use your buddy as a fishing lure.’”

  The laughter rolled out of Joud; and Tazo joined him.

  Alex repeated, “Just plain wrong!” Acting the part of bemused bewilderment, he continued, “So, being a good sport, when I took my clothes back to be reprinted, I shared the story with Peddler Jek.” Alex shrugged and rolled his eyes. “I was looking to trade for something less shiny. And get this: thanks to my story, he decides he doesn’t want my shimmery cloth.”

  “Oh no!” Tazo lamented for him.

  “Yeah, but,” pointing to his chest with both thumbs, Alex conceded, “he did move me to the front of the cue for one pair of nonmetallic shoes and a couple nonmetallic sets of shirts and pants,” Alex shrugged in satisfaction, “And, anyway, it worked out because I decided to have some metallic hats and scarves made…to wear on shore, and on board. They’ll be done next week.” Alex finished with a satisfied smile.

  “I know you were in the mood for big changes,” Tazo said, “…doesn’t hurt to change it up, a bit.”

  Alex bounced his head once, to agree.

  Tazo got the message. Eying Joud, he said, “I understand you and Alex have known each other since you were a boy.”

  “Yes that’s right,” Joud agreed.

  “Have you done much traveling, Joud?”

  “No, not much. I’m definitely a desert guy,” Joud confessed.

  “So, what do you think of this far flung planet?” Tazo prodded.

  “I think, wow, that’s a lot of water!” Joud joked. They all laughed.

  “Joud has always been insightful,” Alex deadpanned.

  “It is a bit intimidating!” Joud defended. “I look at all that water, and realize I’m supposed to survive by catching food I can’t even see. I can barely wrap my head around it all.” Taking a moment to contemplate, he demurred, “Maybe the bot could do the fishing….”

  Alex objected, “I don’t think so. Why should the bot have all the fun? Ma
ybe, I haven’t mentioned, Joud, that I have hunted fish...in the sport reserves.” Eyes growing wide and expressive, he contended, “It is an exhilarating experience. A harpoon gun changes everything. You’ll see.”

  Tazo asked, “Can you swim, Joud? Or...do you plan to use a glide accretion device?”

  “Oh, I can swim,” Joud affirmed while puffing out his chest and crossing his arms.

  “Actually, he even has his diving certification,” Alex said. Looking at Joud, he added, “So, no excuses.”

  “May I offer some unsolicited advice, Joud,” Tazo asked.

  “Sure,” Joud said, leaning forward and dropping his hands to his lap.

  “And, to you Alex,” Tazo said, “since well, obviously Joud will need to rely on you for guidance.”

  Alex waited.

  Tazo smiled then looked serious. “Practice inside the reef,” he cautioned, “before you head off into the horizon.”

  “Don’t worry, we will,” Alex assured. Wriggling in his seat, he added, “Today just happens to be our maiden voyage with our brand new hydroliner! We’re doing a little test run today to see how it handles. If all goes well, we might even do a little fishing. Try out the spear guns.”

  “Please be extra cautious out there today, guys. Jokes aside, Alex: it is a lot of water,” Tazo urged.

  “Will do,” Joud promised.