by Jack L Knapp
“We do not know what the eventual results of our experiment will be. The harvested and transplanted specimens may adapt to life here and become as the rest, content to live out their lives without ambition. We cannot say. We hope they retain the drive and curiosity that we have lost. If we are fortunate, the transplants will instill those qualities in our own highly-evolved population.
"We will continue the transplanting process and hope that it succeeds. It is worth noting that none of us who are engaged in harvesting or transplanting specimens have terminated our own lives. In the meantime, humans are now on a dimension where they did not naturally occur. They are humans of our type and they may survive, even if all humans on Earth Prime do not.
"Some of the dimensions we’ve explored have humans that are different from what you are and what I am. We leave them to work out their destiny in their own way and hope they feel the same once they develop the ability to cross dimensions. This, too, was a part of our reasoning when we decided to begin the transplant program. An aggressive population may resist attempts from cross-timeline invaders, where a passive population would not.
“We hope that your descendants will possess an enhanced sense of survival. There will also be other qualities that become emphasized by the environment you will find on the alternate version of Earth, and some of those qualities may not be advantageous. We will be as careful as possible regarding which specimens we harvest for transplanting to Earth Prime.”
“You’ve said that I could die from any number of violent processes. Will you help me avoid that?”
“No. We give you a healthy body, a mind that is well developed for your time and culture, and then we release you. We select a location where survival is possible, avoiding transplanting into extremes of weather or climate and places we suspect of being geologically unstable. You may choose to seek such places on your own, but that is a choice for you to make.
“You will be alone when I transplant you, but there are other humans within a reasonable distance. You may seek them out, or not. The choice is yours. Some will be male, some female. Some will have been there a considerable length of time, others will have been transplanted after you. I cannot say, because I do not know what the others engaged in this activity have done or what they will do in future.
“The time period on that alternate dimension is between glaciations. According to your reckoning, the conditions are similar to the late Pleistocene period on Earth Prime, the time you refer to as the 'Ice Age'. However, some geological processes took place there in a fashion that is different from what happened on Earth Prime. Your knowledge of the past will be useful, but you should expect differences.
“Humans have been and will continue to be transplanted to each of the major continents. They are released between 40º north and 40º south of the Equator. There are still glaciers beyond those latitudes.”
I was beginning to feel drowsy again. Then, with no further speech, he simply disappeared. I wondered if he was some sort of hologram or if his appearances were ‘in the flesh’, so to speak. I fell asleep while wondering.
#
I soon fell into a routine, much as I had when getting ready for summer drills with the Army Reserve. I would wake, use the bathroom, have breakfast, then use the well-equipped gym that opened off the bedroom through a door I hadn’t noticed before. I worked as much as I could during each session, took a break, had lunch, and worked again. Break for supper, shower and sleep, wake up, and do it again.
There was no way to tell how long this went on, but it probably lasted weeks. I was soon stronger and more agile than I’d ever been. After a while I stopped gaining strength, but coordination and agility continued to increase.
While I was wiping sweat off at the end of one of my workouts, the man appeared and looked at me. After a moment, he disappeared again.
#
The next awakening found me in possession of more memories. Some I thought might have been my own, but some I was certain were of things I’d never done. Still, they were there; I wondered how long it would take to integrate them into my own memories, the ones I’d acquired at the cost of joy, sorrow, and pain before the Futurist had found me.
The ‘bedroom’ now contained a table, and a knife and an axe lay on it. The knife had a blade that was a bit more than three-eighths of an inch at its thickest and was about ten inches long, two inches wide at the guard and tapering to a wickedly sharp point. It had riveted wooden grips for a hilt, and a small cross-guard separated this from the blade. A heavy pommel balanced the knife. I picked it up and examined it. The blade had a clouded, mottled appearance. I concluded that the knife had been made by repeated forging and folding to produce a strong blade that would take and hold an edge, while still retaining flexibility. It was both tool and weapon. I liked the feel of it in my hand, and the edge was razor sharp. I tried shaving my arm and it easily removed the hairs.
The axe was larger than a hatchet but smaller than a standard woodsman’s axe. I estimated the head would weigh about a pound and a half compared with four or five pounds for a full-sized felling axe. The haft was wood, about two and a half feet in length. The back of the blade was flat, so it would be useful as a hammer. Call it a camp-axe, more useful than a hatchet, but not heavy enough to be unwieldy.
I had nothing better to do, so I examined the knife and axe carefully. Some of my memories had to do with knives and axes, and some of them clearly were of places I’d never been and people I’d never met. For whatever reason, the memories left me pleased with the appearance and apparent usefulness of the tools.
How would I use that axe and knife after being ‘transplanted’? Pioneers in North America had considered themselves adequately equipped if they had an axe, a knife, and a shovel. I had no shovel and the axe was small, but the knife was superb.
Still, some primitive societies had lacked metal shovels. They’d made do with sticks or carved branches and those had worked well enough, so perhaps I could do the same.
I hoped that the knife and axe would go with me when I was transplanted. I couldn't think of any other reason the Futurist had left them on the table.
The two were fine weapons, but too valuable to risk unless there was no other choice. I would need weapons that could be risked, even used up in an encounter. Those weapons would necessarily be things I’d made and could make again if they broke. A club, a spear, and eventually a bow and arrows would be needed.
Meat or fish would provide protein. Vegetable protein would help, but I couldn’t count on finding it where the Futurist placed me. I would have to hunt or trap, and I would also need to defend myself.
The Futurist appeared as soon as I laid the knife and camp axe on the table.
“Our work with you is done. It is now up to you to make your way as best you can when you are transplanted. This will happen after your next awakening, and the tools you see will go with you. I will also provide a sturdy costume of undergarments, shirt, trousers, a belt, socks, and boots. The items are similar to what you are familiar with, and both the shirt and trousers have pockets. There is a leather scabbard for each of your tools. You may choose to carry them in your hands or wear them when you are transplanted.”
“How long before I’ll be released?”
“You will sleep first, and when you wake you will be provided food before you depart. Transplanting is painless and does not cause disorientation. You should consider what you will need to do immediately on arrival. While there will be no immediate danger, I caution you that it may not be far away, so you should plan accordingly.”
I was getting drowsy again as he disappeared. I wondered how he did that; I supposed that it was not important, but it would sure be a handy ability to have.
#
I woke up energetic and hungry. There was a meal ready, the same type I’d had before, and the clothes I’d been told about lay on the table. I ate the meal, whatever it was. I had never been able to identify the ingredients; the meals had been tasty an
d that’s all you could say for them. If one of the dishes was meat, I hadn’t recognized it as such. There were no obvious muscle striations or the connective tissue that separates individual muscles. Just…something.
I got dressed, hatchet on my left side, blade facing to the rear. The knife hung at my right hip. The tools felt comfortable hanging from my belt. Regardless of what the Futurist had said, I did not intend to take unnecessary chances. He had mentioned the Pleistocene epoch, and I knew from memory that the time featured apex predators such as dire wolves and saber-toothed cats. Even the huge bison, ground sloths, and mammoths were dangerous.
As soon as I’d finished dressing, the man appeared.
“It is time. Come with me.”
He walked toward a different part of the wall and another door opened. Beyond the door was a small chamber with no discernible features. It was simply blank; a floor, a ceiling, three walls, and a door that closed behind me as I walked through.
Another door immediately appeared where the opposite wall had been. Beyond it was grass, and three hundred yards away there were large trees. I stepped through the door, then glanced back. There was nothing there.
I was alone. I had near-perfect freedom, I could live or die, I could prosper or fail.
I was a very small entity surrounded by a very large and dangerous world and there was no way back, even if I had wanted to go.
Chapter 1
I had never felt so alone.
I was on Earth, but that didn’t mean much; a planet is huge to a man on foot.
Based on the vegetation I was seeing, I could be anywhere in the temperate-to-subtropical zones. The Futurist said he transplanted his ‘specimens’ to North America; that helped a little, but even so, that put me somewhere in a region measuring thousands of square miles.
I was not well equipped for survival, wherever I was.
No shelter. No food. I was wearing what the Futurist had provided, clothing, a knife, an oversized hatchet. Other than that, I had a brain with real memories and some that had been implanted. I was young, healthy, and fit.
It was enough; it would have to be.
The time appeared to be late morning, judging by the sun. The sky was partly cloudy and a faint breeze stirred the leaves. The temperature was comfortably warm and the air was humid.
The small clearing around me was surrounded by trees, mixed hardwoods mostly. Low bushes and berry vines grew near the edge of the clearing. Sinking down until my head was just above the bushes, I examined my surroundings.
Any feeling of safety gained from hiding in the bushes was an illusion. Crouching to remain concealed, I moved upwind. Only faint forest sounds were detectable, the rustling of leaves and occasional chirps from insects or birds. Something, far off, made a chattering noise. I paused for a moment by a tree at the edge of the clearing, gathering information, then moved farther into the forest.
None of the animals of this time had reason to be wary of humans. I was prey, not predator. I had a better brain, but at the moment that didn’t fill me with confidence; rabbits were better equipped to survive. They had better hearing, greater speed, more agility.
Darwin’s principal, survival of the fittest, controlled my life now.
My immediate needs were water, food, and shelter. As soon as those were satisfied, I would need fire and better weapons. Tools, another necessity, could wait.
But providing for those needs required I be cautious. I was no match for the bears, cats, or wolves that preyed on the giant animals of the late ice age. Carnivores included the huge short-faced bear, as well as the grizzly of my timeline; plus saber-toothed cats, lions and wolves, all larger than the predators of my timeline.
Water would be found downhill, so I moved down the slight slope, remaining watchful of the breeze’s direction. Moving air would carry my scent; if a predator was downwind I could expect him to follow his nose. Streams would be my water source here; springs, which probably provided better water with fewer parasites, were not commonly found in this type of southern lowland forest.
For my food needs, I would be a scavenger when possible and a grazer on berries, nuts, and vegetation until I could make traps and better weapons.
This truly was a world where only the fittest survived, Darwin's World. I grinned; the Futurist had called his planet Earth Prime, now my Earth had a name too.
My first weapons would be a club, a spear, and strings. The club could be as simple as a piece of thick, heavy wood. The spear would be crude because I needed something now and couldn’t take the time to make a better one. The strings would be used for traps and snares. They could also be woven into bags for carrying things.
With traps and a spear to kill what I caught, I would become hunter as well as hunted. The knife and axe were close-in weapons, nothing I wanted to face a cat or bear with; until I got better armament, my only options for avoiding danger were hiding, climbing, or running.
The idea of hunting, of killing even a deer, was laughable; sneak up on him and chop him with my axe? Stick him with my knife? More likely, the critter would stomp me into a bloody paste!
Some bears could climb trees, but I could climb higher and farther out onto limbs that wouldn’t support the animal’s weight. So trees were my immediate refuge if I encountered a predator.
I soon spotted a sapling, tall, straight, and a little thinner than my wrist. The axe made short work of cutting through the trunk and trimming the top to length. A few additional chops left a sharp point at the thicker end; I had my first spear. Unlike the knife or axe, I could use the spear while remaining out of the animal’s reach, yet still be able to inflict lethal wounds.
There was a small stream ahead, but I looked warily around before approaching it. Water sources are dangerous; predators drink from them and often ambush prey nearby. Nervous, I drank quickly by scooping water in a cupped hand. Even while drinking, I was aware of trees I could climb quickly.
A large tree stood thirty yards ahead of me, smooth of bark and with low, spreading branches. Fruit hung high in the canopy, though there was none on the lower limbs. Had something eaten the low-hanging fruit? The lack meant that the upper ones were probably edible.
Climbing the tree was awkward, but I wasn’t going to leave my spear. It would hopefully discourage any possible pursuit.
The fruits were some kind of fig, smaller than the ones I’d eaten during my previous life but they tasted better.
Color told me which fruits were ripe; not-ripe also meant not tasty. My first attempt to eat an unripe fig left my lips puckered.
The tree divided into two main branches midway up the trunk. One of the two, about eighteen inches in diameter, had a smaller but substantial limb extending to the right and another a few inches farther on that projected to the left. I chopped thinner limbs of the necessary length and wove them through the branches, making a platform where I could sit while working. It would also serve for sleeping. The platform was not particularly comfortable, but at least nothing was going to approach unseen.
I sat down and began working on my spear.
Trimming the shaft, I shaved away bark and some of the wood underneath. Half an hour later it was done; the finished spear was slightly longer than six feet, tapered, but less so than it had been when I cut the sapling.
It was crude; there was no other word for that first spear, but it was still better than nothing.
The forest around me wasn’t true jungle, but the leaves of the plants beneath the main canopy were large. I could use them in a number of ways, including toilet wipes. Such would be necessary soon because the figs had left me with an urgent need. I added the lesson to my memories, beware of eating too much fruit and especially unripe fruit!
I climbed down, did what was necessary, and used some of the leaves to clean myself. I gathered handfuls of others before climbing back to my platform ‘home’.
Pounding on the leaves, using a chopped off branch for a hammer and another limb for a work surface, loosened t
he long fibers from the matrix. I extracted as many as possible, then dumped the remaining material on my platform, making it smoother and more comfortable for sleeping.
With enough fibers on hand, I began making string. The result was almost as thick as my little finger, fuzzy where I had spliced in fibers, yet strong.
#
The next morning found me hungry but wary of eating more figs. They had not given me diarrhea, but I was certainly very loose! Still, the green figs had a kind of milky, sticky sap that could be used for sticking things together, so the experience wasn’t a total failure. I had a number of projects in mind and glue would be helpful.
Back at the tiny stream, I drank and examined the bottom carefully.
A large rock near the edge looked promising, so I turned it over and grabbed a crayfish before he could scuttle backwards to deeper water. He managed to snap a pincer closed on my finger but I repaid his impertinence by eating him raw. There were also insect nymphs in the leaf litter on the bottom and I ate those too. I was hungry, not fussy.
Moving upstream, I crept around a small bend in the stream and found a small turtle sunning itself on a half-sunken tree trunk. The animal would provide a crude pot as well as a meal if I could catch it.
I swung my spear shaft, knocking him onto the land, and grabbed him as he scrabbled to turn himself upright.
Raw, or cooked? I decided to cook the turtle, which meant I needed a fire.
I knew the theory but had never practiced it. Finely-crushed dry material scraped from inside a piece of fallen bark made tinder and two dry branches were my tools. I shaved the straightest of the dried branches for an upright piece, then carved a starter hollow and a channel in the larger one that led to my tinder. I was ready to begin, the turtle was waiting, and I was hungry.
There are easier ways to make a fire, but they require things like flint and steel. I didn't have those, so I used what I had.
Hold the stick upright with the point in the carved hollow, feet on the large stick to keep it stable. Palms on the sides of the upright near the top, then press downward hard, spin the upright piece back-and-forth while my hands slipped down the stick.
