The young Gamin turns to the nearest grove of trees, and then begins to walk toward them. He quickly searches for any branches that could be fashioned into spears. He takes a dozen long sturdy branches, some coils of vines, and a handful of large leaves.
The youngling hurries toward the rocky outcropping, and arrives before sunset. He quickly scours the area for shelter, and finds a large overhang with a raised rock shelf underneath. Satisfied with the location, he hastily collects a pile of rocks; some he uses to build a fire pit, the rest he chips down into cutting tools. With the last rays of the setting sun, the young Gamin fashions his spears, and then arrays most of them in a semi-circle at the foot of his raised sleeping area, the rock shelf.
Sleeping fitfully, he wakes many times due to strange animal noises, but thankfully none approach his retreat. The cool breeze that blows through the night adds to his distress. The morning rays bring with them a semblance of warmth. He steps from beneath the outcropping to bask in the sunlight, and warm his chilled body.
He climbs to the top of the rocky outcropping, and scans the surrounding terrain intently. Groves of trees and shrubs, along with patchy fields fill the valley below the rocky hillside. He squints into the distance, and grins when he discerns what could be a stream meandering through a succession of trees. Taking two spears, he begins the long walk. He casts his gaze to the surroundings, taking in the grazing animals in the distance, the creatures that fly overhead, and then stops when an unusual sound reaches his ears.
He crouches down and stares wide eyed at the shuttle which flies over the trees, and then lands in a nearby clearing. A pair of Gamin exit the shuttle carrying something heavy between them. They hurl the strange object to the ground, then go back inside. The exit with another, and another, repeating this many times. Finally, they reenter the shuttle and depart. The youngling hurries to see what they discarded, then quickly wishes he had not.
The decomposing bodies are grotesque. Their skin is pale, but it is hard to tell if this is their natural color. The youngling turns away, sickened by the sight and stench. He had heard stories of experiments being conducted on the local population, but did not really believe them, until now. He reflects on another story that is circulating about a killing chamber that is under construction, and then lowers his head in shame. Based on the destroyed cities, these aliens are an intelligent species, and as such, he feels they should not be treated like this.
He turns away, and walks toward the creek, his mind is consumed with thoughts of why his clan is doing these things to the local population. He is so distracted he fails to see a strange plant, and steps straight onto its small, sharp barbs. He screams out in agony as searing pain shoots up his leg. Falling to the ground, he quickly lifts his leg and examines the bottom of his foot. No less than ten small barbs stick out and, to make matters worse, some have broken off below the skin. The fact that these barbs penetrated his scales at all surprises him.
Using his claws, he digs them all out, and then gingerly stands. He stares at the plant, and then shakes his head. He has walked around many of these already, their deep purple flowers a dead giveaway as to where they are.
Leaving bloody foot prints with each painful step, he uses his spears as crutches, as he makes his way to the creek. The trees which line the waterway cast deep shadows onto the ground, making the area noticeably cooler. He stares at the fast-flowing water, and grins when he notices decent sized fish swimming in the deeper areas. His stomach growls, reminding him that he has not eaten for a day. He crouches and drinks heartily from the cool fresh water. After, he cleans the bottom of his foot. Searching the immediate area, he finds a branch he can use as a crutch. He packs the crook where his armpit will rest with fresh leaves, then tests the branch with his weight. It holds.
Going back to the creek, he attempts over and over to spear a fish. Finally, after seemingly hundreds of throws, he has one dangling, successfully impaled. The second fish takes less time to catch, as does the third. Soon he has seven fish in all. He does his best to fillet and clean them, but wastes plenty of good protein in the process. He wraps the crude fillets in leaves, collects an armful of firewood, and then limps back to the rocky overhang.
He is thankful for the Den Mothers’ teachings, and though it takes a while, he eventually has a decent fire going. He cooks the fillets one by one, and devours each as soon as they are cool enough to eat. Feeling sustained, he scatters the few remaining burning sticks and puts out the fire, conserving the remaining combustibles.
Laying on the slab, he scratches his itchy foot, and although it is early, he soon falls asleep.
SCREECH!
The noise is close, and alarming. The youngling wakes with a start. He listens intently, and hears the sounds of pebbles sliding. Something big is standing over the rocky outcropping, sniffing the air. He can hear the animal now, its breathing is labored, as though it is exhausted.
The youngling grabs a spear, aims it at the opening, and with sweat beading on his forehead, waits. The animal pads its way down the slope beside the overhang, then sticks its head around the corner and sniffs. Its features are hard to discern in the dim light, but its growl is unmistakable, it is threatening. The creature’s eyes seem to glint as they search the darkness.
The animal’s ears flick around. The creature’s growl lowers, then it bounds away. The unexpected turn of events relaxes the youngling for a moment, until a new sound reaches his ears, one he recognizes. A shuttle approaches, at night.
The youngling steps from the cave, and watches as a large transport shuttle lands, and its side ramp opens. The exterior lighting on the transport allows him to see a handful of Gamin unloading bodies, lots of them. The pile grows ever larger and larger as they keep getting hurled on top of one another. He looks to see if these are being added to those from earlier, but he cannot tell.
WHOOSH!
The youngling steps back as the mound of bodies is suddenly engulfed in flames. Moments later the transport takes off, leaving the area acrid with the stench of burning flesh. Movement catches his attention; the animal he saw earlier is padding around the flames, waiting. The youngling gulps when he notices another, and then another. It dawns on him that these animals were expecting this food delivery.
Even before the flames are fully extinguished, this pack of animals begins pulling bodies from their funeral pyre, and carting them away. The young Gamin remains awake and vigilant all night. The early morning rays reveal an empty field, with all that remains of last night’s events being a scorched patch of ground. Something about the burned ground bothers him. He limps his way outside, and then painstakingly climbs to the top of the rocky outcropping. From there he notices the patchy areas he saw earlier. They appear to be the results of old fires, many old fires.
He crouches and absentmindedly scratches his injured foot. He pulls his hand away in alarm, it is slick with blood and pus. The tiny wounds are infected. He gently pushes the infection out from each wound then stares at the distant stream and realizes he has to clean his foot properly. He makes his way to his retreat, then using his makeshift crutch, limps to the creek.
Cleaning his foot is relatively easy, but he can see a redness around each puncture wound that was not there before. He is becoming more proficient at spearing fish, and soon has nine of them, all cleaned and filleted. The injured youngling painfully limps back to the rocky outcropping, while managing to carry a load of wood.
He lights his fire, cooks and eats the fillets, then feeling tired, falls asleep. He wakes a couple of times, scratches at his leg, then falls asleep again. He slumbers through the afternoon, and night, but the youngling still feels tired when he wakes with the morning’s rays.
Examining his foot, he is alarmed to see it is inflamed, with each puncture hole showing renewed signs of infection. Leaning heavily on his makeshift crutch, he limps his way to the creek, and then drinks deeply of its cooling waters. His foot is painful to touch, but he does what he must. Using his claws,
he picks the scabs off each hole, then squeezes out a thick yellow material from each hole. The smell from the stuff is bad enough to make the youngling gag, it is worse than the smell from the dead bodies. The holes are large now, with each one appearing as a gaping wound. He slides his foot into the water, and feels instant relief. He lays back on the bank of the creek, leaving his foot in the soothing waters.
He awakes with a start. Instead of the canopy of trees overhead, his eyes rest on a ceiling. A crude lantern flickers nearby lighting the room with its glow. He turns his head and comes face to face with a local, a living local. Huge oval eyes stare back at him, then blink. The local is talking, but his words are meaningless to the youngling, except for the word ‘Oglan’. The tall pale Oglan motions with his hands toward the youngling’s foot.
The injured young Gamin stares at his foot; it is wrapped in a bandage. A strange odor emanates from it, not a bad odor like before, but something else, something familiar.
The Oglan holds a bowl out toward the injured Gamin. The youngling licks his lips in anticipation as the smell of the warm meat broth reaches him. Suddenly he stops as he realizes that by being assisted, he has failed the trial, and will be put to death. The Oglan mistakes the Gamin’s pause and motions to his mouth with his fingers, indicating that the food should be eaten. The youngling snatches the bowl, and devours the entire contents in seconds.
The Oglan smiles, then takes the bowl and refills it from a huge pot. The youngling finishes this second bowl, then, in a gesture of thanks, lowers his head. Though he wants to escape, he is too weak, and instead collapses into a deep sleep.
For three days, the Oglan tends to the youngling’s injured foot; the poultice in the bandages draws out the infection, and the constant cleaning of the wounds aids in the healing process. By the fourth morning, the youngling is able to rise from his bed. He helps the Oglan clean the room, then with a barely noticeable limp, steps outside.
The Oglan follows him, points off into the distance, then smiles and nods at the Gamin. The youngling gazes into the distance, then spots it, the rocky outcropping. He turns to the Oglan, then clenches his hand into a fist and says, “I owe you my life, a debt I shall not forget, and will one day repay you and your kind.”
The Oglan frowns at the alien words, but understands the gesture. He nods his pale bald head in respect, then steps back inside his small wooden building.
The youngling takes his time as he walks back to his camp site. He is surprised to find the area well stocked with wood, and even more surprising is the wood spit that rests over a prepared fire. Resting above the rock shelf hangs a haunch of meat from a vine, while a battered pot rests nearby, filled with water.
The youngling turns around in disbelief. Why is the alien helping me? He wonders. Deciding that he will keep the Oglan’s help to himself, he lights the fire, cooks the meat, and drinks the water.
He sleeps well that night, and is easily able to travel to and from the creek for fish and water the next day. He has put a lot of thought into all that has happened, and has come to the realization that being in this area, where the bodies were dumped and burned, is no accident. His father, the Regent, wishes to teach him a lesson. He also wonders if his father expected the local to kill him. The youngling has learned a valuable lesson, and vows never to be like his cruel, callous father.
The last days of the trial pass quickly, and easily, and in fact feel quite dull in comparison to the first few days. Even a torrential downpour one afternoon does not seem exciting, especially in comparison to the Oglan saving his life.
He wakes early on the final morning, wraps some cooked meat in leaves, and begins the trek back to where he was dropped off. The meadows all look similar, but by using the grove of trees he first saw as a guide, he soon arrives at the right place. He is still nibbling on the last remnants of his food when a shuttle appears in the sky, and then lands nearby.
Striding on board, he is stunned by the sight that befalls him. Nine body bags, and seven emaciated Gamin greet him. One of the pilots stands and says, “Well, I’ll be. This one looks like he actually grew!”
The youngling stammers a response, “I caught fish and small animals, cleaned and cooked them. Just as the Den Mothers instructed.”
“Well, I am glad you stayed clear of the locals,” The pilot states, then as he waves at the body bags, continues, “those younglings were not so fortunate.”
The Naming
Eight younglings out of the original seventeen, all stand tall and proud. Each wears a basic robe, signifying their first step into Gamin society. The death rate of younglings is so high, they are not even named until they come of age and pass the trial.
Each youngling steps forward, then proudly states the name of their choosing. One by one they choose the name of their forebear, as expected, to continue the family name and heritage.
The last youngling to step forward is Regent Xasturz’s son. The youngling takes a deep breath, then lifts his head high, and staring into his father’s eyes, states, “I am following the old ways, and am choosing the name Voknor, in honor of the exodus.”
The room goes deathly quiet. No youngling has failed to take their father’s name in countless generations. And to take the name Voknor, a radical in his time, is an added insult. The original Voknor openly disagreed with the Emperor, and made many decisions which at the time were contrary to popular opinion. In time, his ideology ended up being acknowledged as revolutionary many years after his passing.
Regent Xasturz glares at his son, then turns to the other younglings and states, “The rest of you may go back to the Den Mothers, young Voknor here will report to reclamation duty, immediately.”
Young Voknor lowers his gaze and replies deferentially, “As you command, Regent!”
Xasturz scowls then strides away; he is furious.
Chapter Three - The Lost Years
Like all younglings, Voknor spends many years growing and learning. These years are like an extended teenager time. Named younglings have an identity, and a place in society, but few responsibilities. Being young and naive, many have pranks and practical jokes played on them by the experienced crews, and they, in turn, play jokes on each other.
Young Voknor spends years working the lower decks, learning the ins and outs of the fleet’s one and only reclamation ship, commanded by Prime Gentak. Duty on this spacecraft is viewed as a punishment. The craft is slow, poorly armored, and has few weapons, thus its combat effectiveness is limited. Being able to scoop up space debris, land on planets, and even venture underwater, this craft travels to wherever the resources are, and then converts them into base elements.
Some wonder how long the Regent will keep his son performing these tasks, while other younglings surpass him, year after year. Young Voknor stoically performs his duties, and becomes quite adept at repairing and maintaining the ship’s systems.
Finally, Voknor is moved to his next assignment, one which is considered the second worst in the fleet, and that is to be assigned to the fleet’s construction craft. This spacecraft lands on planets, then disgorges mining vehicles which collect resources in order to manufacture various components. Young Voknor earns the respect of those around him, thanks to his ability to not only perform his new duties, but his extended time on the reclamation ship has provided him with a wealth of valuable experience at repairing and maintaining this ship’s systems. In addition, he becomes proficient at using the mining craft, and actually enjoys this duty. The ship’s Prime, Lokarz, often turns a blind eye when young Voknor takes a mining craft out for seemingly no purpose.
Many years pass before young Voknor receives his third assignment, a lower-decks posting aboard one of the fleet’s many support vessels. At three kilometers in length and almost one third as wide, these craft have twenty-five internal decks, five of which are command levels. If any craft in the fleet were expendable, these are it. They are usually the first to arrive at planetary systems, where they scan for hostiles before the
main fleet arrives. This provides the clan the greatest chance of survival, should an overwhelming enemy force be present.
Young Voknor immediately notices a stark contrast between this vessel and the previous two. Whereas the collection ships have an abundance of resources, making repairs an easy task, this craft suffers a chronic shortage of just about everything. He finds that his skills are taxed to the limit just to maintain even the most rudimentary of systems.
In frustration, Voknor makes his way toward the bridge, but is stopped by the ship’s Master Engineer, who demands, “Where are you going?”
Young Voknor replies, “To see Prime Roggard, to requisition resources.”
The engineer stands tall and states, “We do not need to take from the fleet, that which we do not need.”
“Do you know we lost gravity on level three, section eight?” Young Voknor reports boldly, his frustration building.
The engineer sneers as he states, “Then we should avoid that area, shouldn’t we?”
“It’s an easy fix,” Voknor ventures, then adds, “all we need are…”
The engineer interrupts him, forcefully stating, “Nothing! We require nothing!”
Young Voknor lowers his gaze as he mumbles, “We will make do with what we have.”
“Perfect!” The engineer exclaims, then adds, “you may return to your repair duties; the command levels are off limits to you, Prime Roggard’s orders.”
Initiation Series: Series One Compilation (Terran Chronicles) Page 141
