| Speculative biology is simultaneously a science and form of art in which one speculates on the possibilities of life and evolution. What could the world look like if dinosaurs had never gone extinct? What could alien lifeforms look like? What kinds of plants and animals might exist in the far future? These questions and more are tackled by speculative biologists, and the Speculative Evolution welcomes all relevant ideas, inquiries, and world-building projects alike. With a member base comprising users from across the world, our community is the largest and longest-running place of gathering for speculative biologists on the web. While unregistered users are able to browse the forum on a basic level, registering an account provides additional forum access not visible to guests as well as the ability to join in discussions and contribute yourself! Registration is free and instantaneous. Join our community today! |
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| Topic Started: Sep 20 2009, 05:41 PM (915 Views) | |
| lamna | Sep 20 2009, 05:41 PM Post #1 |
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Until it gets a better place put your own fiction here. I'm sure this will be moved in time. I'll get the ball rolling To Create A King. “Hey George how are you?” Asked Howard Galleani, Vice President of the North American Union. “Not bad all things considered, though there are far to many things to be considered for my liking. ” President Fairfax said as he returned his sinfully comfortable chair to the upright position “For one thing we are going to have to get rid that old Presidential Seal on the ceiling” “Unfortunately we have more serious matters to attend to than that to attend to George, the Rednecks, Injuns, Frogs and the Lizzes and starting to get organized. The Canadians are pussies but the Indians and Son’s of Dixie are armed well enough to do some serious damage. Personally I would not trust them to tie their own shoelaces, let alone lead a revolt but better to report it now than leave it unmentioned and have it come back to bite me later. More worryingly the Zapatistas still have control over all pretty much of Chiapas but Tuxtla Gutiérrez and a few parts of the coast. They too good at playing the “plucky rebel” for us to crush them at the moment, though if a few incidents with them and unarmed civilians could be…exposed that might change.” George’s face tightened ever so slightly at Howard’s smile. “That’s pretty much were we stand on the domestic front, popularity has dropped a few percent in some areas, but overall I would say our popularity is only down about 0.5% across the Union. So how did things go with the Russians?” “Not all that well I am afraid, Tsar George and Prime Minister Alexander refused to back down, they say the treaty stipulated Russia and the NAU have to pay 50/50 for all repairs and maintenance to The Intercontinental Peace Bridge, and they say just because the damaged happened 2 kilometres from Siberia does not that change that” “Goddamn russkies” Spat Galleani “I hate having to pay for their incompetence, but we need them now more than ever given how European investment has been drying up as the Euro-African Empire absorbs the last of Eastern Europe. Speaking of Tsar George Mikhailovich, I have had an idea how to improve our popularity” George thought for a moment “Ok, you’ve stumped me, how can the Russian Emperor improve the new regime’s popularity?” “Not the Russian Emperor, the American one” “Pardon?” George asked, still confused “What if a man should take upon himself to be King?” “That’s a quote isn’t it? Cromwell? But that’s ridiculous Howard! The USA was created against monarchism, and the Mexicans executed both of their Emperors for Christ’s sake. Heck even the Canadians are loyal to a different monarch. It would be suicide to become a monarch, and I would be lucky if it was only political suicide.” “Calm down George, I never said that you should become King. As you just said, the citizens of the NAU would hate a monarchy. That’s the point. We pick some random kid, and make him Grand Duke, Emperor, King or whatever. In fact make the poor bastard Emperor, it sounds more evil. He is crowned, becomes a hated scapegoat drawing fire from us, then the NAU play the hero stepping in to save the proles from the tyranny of Emperor Whoever. We look like we are doing something for the common man, while not wasting money on the “poor destitute and disenfranchised people of the NAU.” Plus as soon as the bastard is crowned we can hike up taxes to an unreasonable level so when he is deposed we can seem to be lowering them but still, while still getting more than we are now. And charging a few things to “Imperial Expenses” will give us the kind of money we need for those projects we discussed last month” George sat deep in thought for a while after Howard delivered his sales pitch. However much Howard liked to think he was the power behind the throne, George was still the President. Those projects would help ordinary Americans a lot, even if they could never know about them. And the administration needed all the public support it could get and it would hardly be the first time he manipulated the masses for the greater good. “Ok Howard, if you can make sure we don’t get the blame for this you get your Emperor” “Good, I knew you would see things my way. Now as to how the Emperor is picked, I was thinking that we could…” Drink every time you see spelling or grammar problem, or a overused stupid trope. Edited by lamna, Sep 20 2009, 06:08 PM.
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Living Fossils Fósseis Vibos: Reserva Natural 34 MYH, 4 tonne dinosaur. [flash=500,450] Video Magic! [/flash] | |
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| Iowanic | Sep 21 2009, 08:41 PM Post #2 |
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Adult
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"THE WILDS OF ZETA" Part 1. A day on Zeta was called a cycle by it's colonists; a alluding to the cycle of phases Zeta's parent-planet, Zyra, went thru. It was the start of a cycle and one of Zeta's colonists had chambered up a heap of rock, up high, above the night veiled savanna. He was examining the world around him and was rewarded for his open eyes and heart with dawn. Dawn on Zeta was not so much slow as staged: like a meal of many courses: each something to be savored for itself. The sky went gray from black; stars fading, then teal from gray and then robin-egg blue. Thin scattered clouds were marching above; west to east, where they began to pile up. Hadian's range was indistinct lumps beneath that pile; looking more like random thrown together shades then mountains. Something copper-red began to grow into the sky from them. Snookeroo Starsharke breathed. Just breathed and watched. It took minutes for the sun; Alpha Bellus, to become a half-orb. It was small, bright and peeled away the night from below Starsharke. Down there more rock; boulders, gray rusty red-streaked, were painted onto the scene. Then came a few trees: isolated, scrawny, knobbed, seeming unable to decide which direction to grow. There came shrubs; mostly sun-faded brown; bristled and spiked and offering only the beauty of being able to endure heat and dry, cycle after cycle. Most of the savanna was grass and weeds and these made their entrance. A half-dozen types and kin; some tan stalks, standing above the others like ragged, ancient fence posts. Others dark gray clumps with threatening thorns of red. There was a dragon's maw: a cactus that inspired to be more; it's innards marching away from view down the pits they capped. Shadows striped the terrain. A ink-blot seeped into the sky at the horizen and oozed towards Snook. He watched it and it became a flock of something: long-necks; fan-tails; prop-winged; humming in unison. Over they passed: hundreds, thousands, hell: maybe millions. They were dark purple with black stripes and there they went; heading to the range. Snook found himself smiling at them and waved. He turned and headed groundward. Among the flora he strode and tried to do anything but think. Feel; he told himself. The savanna always seemed to make him want to feel; that first, that foremost. He wasn't sure where it came from; he didn't dislike it, not at all. But...but... He didn't know. He loved Zeta: he was home and he knew it for the first time in his life. But that was the thing: he'd never had a home before. What do I do with it, he asked himself. He wanted to know and was still seeking someway to find out. There: a rare flower. Among the flotsam of savanna a rod, man-tall, spliting into dozens of more rods as if diced. Each rod was capped with tiny clear buttons that sparkled in the dawn's light: glittered and when poked by a breeze; seemed like dozens of eyes, winking. the stalks were pale blue and Snook wanted to pick one for Kathy but they'd break, shatter and he'd have nothing. They were called boom-bloom. Someone had thought the buttons like fireworks frozen in bursting. Then Snook saw the tracks. |
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| SIngemeister | Sep 22 2009, 07:42 AM Post #3 |
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Hive Tyrant of the Essee Swarm
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Nice both of you. I'll post some of my story soon. |
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My Deviantart RRRAAAAAARRRRGGGGHHH!!!!! | |
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| Scrublord | Sep 22 2009, 02:04 PM Post #4 |
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Father Pellegrini
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Perhaps here would be a good place for me to put my story, "The Insect God." It's kind of long so it might not fit. . . |
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My Projects: The Neozoic Redux Valhalla--Take Three! The Big One Deviantart Account: http://elsqiubbonator.deviantart.com In the end, the best advice I could give you would be to do your project in a way that feels natural to you, rather than trying to imitate some geek with a laptop in Colorado. --Heteromorph | |
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| Iowanic | Sep 22 2009, 08:20 PM Post #5 |
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Adult
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"The Wilds Of Zeta" Part 2. They were as big as one of his size 14's; the soil was compressed as if trianglar wedges had been driven into it. They went north then threading thru clumps of plant-life, turned west. He followed for a hundred yards and then the soil got too rocky for tracking. He stopped; staring off into the west. He found himself subconciously checking the sling on his rifle. He spun on a heel and made for the Williamson's place. It was across the 4-laned blacktop road: a stack of tan adobe hiding the sandbags used for walls underneath. The garage door was open and a big blue van was being stuffed with suitcases and bags by a tall lithe black woman. She saw Snook; waved for him to come over. A dog woofed somewhere in back. Kids were laughing. "You up in the wild again." Kathy sounded happy but frowned from a long list of chores done and a long list still to be. "Mighty pretty Bellus-rise." Snook could see the van was near full. Were they going on vacation or moving? "Better tell ya," the lass pushed at a suitcase with the same concentration one gave a tricky jigsaw puzzle. "Forgot to get you any meat. You don't got a car...""I got a rifle." Snook unslung his remi 7600, "Grazelopes plus rifle equals main course. I'll have your freezer full by the time you get back." "I'm giving you my satellite phone, muscles." "I got my own." "You need backup: things happen. You gonna be all out here by your lonesome." "I'm a big boy, Kathy." "Sure you are." "Snook! Been looking for ya, man." Deep voice; the volume tending to the loud end of the dail. Snook turned as his best friend, Rigel Williamson, arrived. Rigel's most memorable feature was his smile, wide and infectious. He had it in full play. "You hiding to keep from helpin', aint ya?" "Wow. I canna fool you, can I?" "Took you long enough to find out. Here's the keys...locker included." "Naw sure about the locker. I should naw need it." "Just in case." Rigel handed the keys over. Kathy had wandered inside and seeing his chance; Snook gestured with a hand. Mystified, Rigel followed the other out to around the end of the driveway. "What, man? You look..." "I saw skuda tracks." Snook had expected surprise and worry. But got a knowing resigned nod instead. "Yeah, I know." "You've seen..." "Tracks, yeah. Saw a set, just a few; after the rain. Right at last nightfall." Rigel aimed a big arm out to the north. "Maybe a mile...." "Found mine south; across the road. A bit further but they looked fresh." "Then we got trouble." "Aye." "What would you do?" Snook stared at the other. He hadn't expected the question. "Last I heard: skuda move into a area and stay. Naw sure that 'tis too cool." "It aint. Someone's gotta kill it." "Aye." "That's you and me." "Aye." "I'm going on vacation. You noticed?" "Aye. A bit." "Two cycles. I'm really looking forward to it. Kathy is looking forward to it. Terry and Lee? Guess what?" "Umm....they're looking forward to it?" "You sharp today." "So...." "No. You wrong. I know what you thinking now. And you wrong." Rigel was scowling and looking down on his friend in a most disapproving way. Snook had seen it before. "WE gonna kill it. This is a two man job. Hell; we'll look up Rod and make it a project. WE. Right?" Snook nodded. Sort of. Rigel scowled with greater effort. His stare made Snook sigh. "We; 'tis." A commotion erupted and came around the side of the house. A 8-year old lad, football tucked in close, sprinted in front of a galloping, barking dog the size of a Shetland pony. The dog could have easily caught the boy but that would have ruined the game. Bringing up the rear was another 8-year old boy: clearly a twin to the first. "Awright, you hoodlums! We going! Say..... --hit!" Something was droning in the sky. Airplane props. Rigel looked unhappy but not as much as Kathy; who came up with wrath in her eyes. "Rigel! What did I say? You can't talk that way in front of ....." "Baby, I know. I'm sorry. But --hit. Hear that?" "Oh-oh." "Oh-oh; bet! That's our plane coming! Everybody, in! Now!" A short modern interpretation of the Keystone cops ensued; with some spicy vocalization and a dog who wanted to drive the van, apparently. A minute more and everyone who was leaving was leaving and Snook and his dog, Laddy; was staying. The van got started and Rigel pulled onto the blacktop; idling a moment. He made certain Snook could see his eyes. He wasn't smiling. "WE, Snook. WE." Snook waved, Kathy waved and away shot the van. Snook turned to Laddy. "Time for breakfast, big buddy. Say: ever wonder if Skuda eat anything beside grazelope? I'm thinking we're gonna need to find out." |
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| SIngemeister | Sep 23 2009, 03:05 PM Post #6 |
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Hive Tyrant of the Essee Swarm
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A blast of plasmagel flew past Jorr Hoskins’ head and smashed into the opposite trench wall, the explosion gouging a large hole in the mud wall, letting off a foul smelling purple vapour. In the days before he had joined up, Jorr had studied plasma weaponry, especially plasmagel, which used the interesting premise of combining super heated plasma gas with a blob of explosive gelatinous substance, which created an incredibly powerful and dangerous weapon that was capable of causing large explosions, if somewhat dangerous to use, unreliable and too heavy for a human to carry around normally. There were several races that could use it however. The insectoid Neptunids and Giracktra, the massive Brugarors and the robotic Marshans were certainly strong enough to. The only race, however, that regularly used hand-held plasmagel armaments were the Garars, a race of brutal, belligerent crocodilian bipeds with a penchant for killing, and thus the high power, very noisy, highly explosive and incredibly vicious weapons suited them to a tee. These were who Jorr and the remainders of his group were fighting against. His group had originally been made up of three squads, one of which he was sergeant, but had now been reduced to twelve ordinary privates, three sergeants, including him, and six soldiers with heavy weaponry. Against a horde of over five thousand heavily armed aliens, not to mention a host of ferocious vehicles, they had little chance. Jorr groaned as he looked up and spotted two small black dots in the sky. Hopefully they would be Shadow Chasers or Dusk Stalkers. They were too far away at the moment to be of any danger to his group at the present time; however, this was no comfort. How ironic, thought Jorr, that one of the most savage and backwards species in the galaxy, have the best air force out of all the major races. “Shit. They got air cover, Sergeant Hoskins, sir!” “I know, Hersho, I have eyes.” Hersho was the youngest soldier in their motley band, and was affectionately known as ‘the noob’ or ‘the kid’. He had been bestowed the wooden spoon of stating the Bloody Obvious, for his habit of doing so. |
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My Deviantart RRRAAAAAARRRRGGGGHHH!!!!! | |
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| Ànraich | Sep 24 2009, 04:35 PM Post #7 |
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L'évolution Spéculative est moi
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Just a couple of tips, don't try to explain the technology too much. It's not necessary, people read stories for the story, not the science behind it (those who want that figure it out later). It makes sense that he studied the weaponry and knows therefore how it works, but don't overdo it; it drags the story out and loses the readers attention. Though I do like that, all these stories are pretty good. |
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We should all aspire to die surrounded by our dearest friends. Just like Julius Caesar. "The Lord Universe said: 'The same fate I have given to all things from stones to stars, that one day they shall become naught but memories aloft upon the winds of time. From dust all was born, and to dust all shall return.' He then looked upon His greatest creation, life, and pitied them, for unlike stars and stones they would soon learn of this fate and despair in the futility of their own existence. And so the Lord Universe decided to give life two gifts to save them from this despair. The first of these gifts was the soul, that life might more readily accept their fate, and the second was fear, that they might in time learn to avoid it altogether." - Excerpt from a Chanagwan creation myth, Legends and Folklore of the Planet Ghar, collected and published by Yieju Bai'an, explorer from the Celestial Commonwealth of Qonming Tree That Owns Itself
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| lamna | Sep 24 2009, 05:03 PM Post #8 |
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Indeed, you will be told again and again, but remember to Show and not Tell whenever possible. |
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Living Fossils Fósseis Vibos: Reserva Natural 34 MYH, 4 tonne dinosaur. [flash=500,450] Video Magic! [/flash] | |
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| Iowanic | Sep 25 2009, 08:17 PM Post #9 |
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Adult
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"The Wilds Of Zeta" Part 3. Snookeroo spent a hour perusing the colony-net from the Williamson's elderly but dependable PC. Hunters on Zeta had their own blog: info was shared and ideas traded. Snook poked about and concluded he was now expert enough on Skuda hunting to get to brass-tacks. First: bait. Out on the savanna; there would simply be no way to stalk a skuda. You could see forever it seemed out there...but so could a skuda. And if you were seen; the skuda would get hid or gone. No; you had to find a way to draw one out to where you could ambush it. That meant bait and one thing all stated again and again on the blog: skuda's main course was grazelopes, by a wide margin. Snook was satisfied; grazelopes were his faverite food-item. It seemed a good way to christen his new endeavor: start with the familiar and build from there. So; hunt grazelope. He got his remi; canteen of water, binoculars and Laddy and off he went. He crossed the road and headed southeast; the range to his left and he and his dog weaved thru rocks then the grass was all about. Grasses more exactly; each seeming to have it's own place and style on the savannian canvas. Most of it was dog-ear; a pale tan, three-pronged plant a bit like a doberman's ear. It grew flat on the ground; a mat of overlapping triangles; a river of chain-mail twisting and turning as if searching vainly for a ocean. Laddy lopped about; looking for something to chase. Rising from the rivers of dog-ear were islands of featherfern. Taller then dog-ear and remarkably like their title; orange feathers, with a single edge of black. Featherfern was grazelope-chow. They ate it and they hid in it and if you hunted them; you had to get used to featherfern. Snook unslung his 7600; slid home a magazine primed with 4 rounds of .270. Laddy was shushed and the stalk began. He eased into a shoal of featherfern; stooped till only his eyes cleared the tops. A cool breeze flowed down from the range; the fern writhed and swirled. Up came the bino's; 7 X 28's and it undertook a slow, systematic swing. No 'lopes to be seen. He waited 10 minutes, swept again. Bellus came out briefly; as if checking up on him. But still no 'lopes. Up he got and headed for the next shoal. That one was a bust and the one after but Laddy found a hint on the next; the featherfern had blotches; stems brocken off. Something had been eatting here. Yep, the stems were all twisted off halfway up. If a good sized section was tore from the ground or nibbled to the soil; the whole shoal would die. As if clued in on how nature worked; especially to it's own betterment, grazelopes only ate the top half; assuring a regular regrow. They farmed with their bellies, you might say. Snook smiled. Nature was so cool... He bino'ed; still no sighting. He ran info gathered from dozens of hunts thru his head. This early in the cycle.....they'd be fanning out; traveling away from their nest-warren. Late summer....okay; all the best featherfern would need to be let regrow: the 'lopes had to go further out to the 'no-grow' zone. Furthest from the prairie-loft trees. Snook had met people from Oz province; 'urbubbas' in local slang, who thought 'no-grow' meant somehow nothing grew out there, 6, maybe 7 miles from the nearest loft. Completely wrong, though. Lots grew out there. Grass, anyway. 'No-grow' came from the hunters who had learned that was a spot where all walking things had to be alert. Or they wouldn't grow any older. Long walk, it was. Thru dog-ear; checking featherfern for feeding blotches; bino's up and down and up and down. There wasn't as much dragon's maw; nary a tree except a loft....way, way off...dark green on a column of black. He was close now. He shifted direction; he could see a loft to his right; there, that shoal. It'd been ate thru; but this was out a ways; their next sweep would have to be near. He got on the southern edge of the shoal; sat and laid his rifle across his legs. He would have to wait. Laddy lay down and looked bored: this was the part of the routine he'd might as well nap during. He did and the only sound was the breeze brushing fern. Two and a half hours later; Bellus dropping yellow rays thru a window in the gray; he spotted a head. Peeking up, out of fern; maybe 150 yards to his right. It disappeared by the time he got the bino's up. He lowered; looking out between the feathers of orange. Had it seen him? Had he imagined it? No, there.... a cone-shaped orange muzzle; dark eyes like pits in it's head. It darted back into the featherfern; perfect camouflage. Snook bino'ed. Come on.... There, again. Peeking. Then another further to the right; casing the terrain. In the fern, they were safe: something went after them and they'd scatter, 20 maybe 30 critters accelerating on three-toed feet in 20 or 30 different courses. 60....maybe 70 miles per hour? Only skuda could outrun them... Another head; but this time not up and out; but at the edge, tentative. They'd decided it was safe to move to the next shoal; to cross the open dog-ear. Snook tromboned the slide; chambering a round. He took the scope-covers off; dailed in 7 power. The first 'lope was now completely in the open; his shadow nearly atop the smaller second following in his tracks. The follower was female; orange stripes on black fur. They were too close to each other and Snook waited some more. Too much risk of a 'thru and thru' hitting the female on the other side. He had a permit only for one. The wait went on. The first two strode out, conifident . A third, a male, eased out and Snook put the cross-hairs just above the shoulder. His thumb worked the safety without his even being aware. He breathed in, out then made a fist slowly with his right hand. The remi barked; gave a tap to his shoulder. Grazelopes boiled out of the fern: scattering here, there and everywhere. Snook rose: no point in hiding now. Laddy howled in canine-hunting joy and took his pick of passing 'lope to chase. Snook went to where he'd mentally marked the 'lope as standing. It was no where to be seen now. But a few drops of crimson were. They made a trail and Snook knew he wouldn't have far to go. He pumped out the spent cartridge, recovered it for reloading, got the safety on 'no-fire' and took the trail of scarlet. At the end of it lay the 'lope; laid out open-eyed but not moving, not breathing. It'd just missed falling into another shoal; instinctively seeking the last protection it had; as it's speed finally refused to assist. It lay; on display to the sky and clouds and Bellus and him. Snook bowed his head a few moments; letting the creator of them both know he'd stepped forward as predator and the responsibility was now his to see nothing went to waste. He checked his remi's chamber one last time for emptyness, put it aside and got out his knife. Laddy came back, tongue lolling from his mid-morn run. He found a suitable spot and lay down, watching. He seemed restless, though. Something was worrying him. The breeze swayed fern. |
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| Iowanic | Sep 26 2009, 08:16 PM Post #10 |
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Adult
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"The Wilds Of Zeta" Part 4. Snookeroo opened the door to the sheetmetal hut and slogged inside. He took off his french foreign legion hat and shook his head about like a dog having climbed from a bath. Except baths are usually warmer; Snook chided... "Excuse me. Do you have business here?" Snook pawed wet hair from his eyes and replaced his hat. He finally located someone who looked so like a mortician; he half-expected to see a open coffin somewhere about. Snook took the hog-tied grazelope from around his neck and held it out. Dracula-behind-the-desk didn't seem impressed. "Your gun." What? Gun....it's a rifle. Snook noticed the other was pointing to a spot just inside the door. Oh... there were wooden pegs bolted to the wall; rifles reposed on two sets of them. Snook unslung and re-checked chamber, then added the remi to the collection. Turning back; the count was pointing with a pen now; all the while not looking at the other. Snook found the gesture ended at a row of plastic chairs across the room; on which lounged two other men: they looked soggy, too. "You'll be seen in turn." added the undead office-worker and went back to industrially showing a form on the desk in front of him who was boss. Snook shrugged; waded out of the puddle forming from his clothes and took a end-seat; he put the grazelope on his lap. One of the others gave him a side-glance. The other didn't: just sat, staring out into space; chin on hand, elbow on knee. Mr. Side-glance offered a lips-only grin. "Hiya. Been hunting, right?" "Actually; someone just threw this out with the trash. I thought it'd been a shame to let it go to waste." Side-glance yelped; Snook realized after a couple minutes it was laughter. At least someone was happy...."Next." Mr. Blank-look rose and stepped to the desk like someone being audited. Side-glance nudged a shoulder for attention. "You're gonna love this guy. I think he's over from Oz." "Cool." "I hear tell that someone's thought up some neat new rules and regulations. He's here to make sure we all know about them." "How thoughtful." More yelps bounced around the room for a bit. "Nice 'lope. Where'd ya get 'em?" The never-ending quest for info extraction was underway; Snook noted. It was traditional; aye; but not all traditions are entertaining. "South." "What'd ya use?" Snook pointed over to the wallpegs. Side-glance nodded. "What caliber?" ".270 Winchester." "130's?" "150." "Custom- load? Gun cafe's really..." "No. Partitions." "Gotta love 'em, don't ya? How far?" "Oh....120 yards, I guess." "That close..." "This time...." Side-glance paused; seemed to regroup. He spoke in a lower voice now.... perhaps not desiring to be overheard. "I hear they're raising the cost on game-points now." Snook said nothing. Which only left a opportunity for continuance. "Someone's getting rich and it's not us; I know that. Hear tell they're gonna outlaw all open-range hunting on Oz. Even on private property. They're gonna set up game-parks or reserves or whatever they gonna call 'em. Not sure I care for it. I mean; I dunno if I'll ever be hunting there but.....I dunno. Just don't like it." The pause didn't prompt a comment from Snook; so much as the intent stare that went with it. He tried as best he felt capable of. "It 'tis a interesting concept. It can be made to work." "Ah.....if it isn't broke; why try to fix it? Did they ask any of us?" "This 'tis Kovoko. Oz 'tis naw our turf." "I wonder if anyone got asked. I'm tired of people telling me what's good for me." "Next, please." Side-glance headed to the desk. Snook fidgited and hoped it'd be his turn before the chair melted under him. He got his chance; Side-glance dismissed back out into the rain and Snook was gestured with the pen to front and center. He looked for a place to set the 'lope: the previous game-officials had kept a spartan table: just perfect for flopping game down on. The count had his decorated with orderly piles of color-coded paper forms. He actually straightened one pile before even looking up at Snook. "Over there." "Say again?" "Put the animal over there." 'There' was a cloth-hamper; like for laundry. Snook lowered the 'lope inside and by the time he returned to the starting point; a line-up of stark papers full of blank lines in need of filling out were waiting. Pale and grim ignored him completely; going to the 'lope for processing or lord knew what they were doing now. Snook could fully sympathize with Side-glance and the more forms he had to fill out; the sager that fellow became. What was more likely to break a hunters spirit; wondered Snook. Lack of game or profusion of paperwork? He crossed the last 't' and signed his name for approximately the 20th time just as Prince Charming returned. He said nothing; offering no indacation he even noted anyone else was present. He garthered up the finished forms and seemed disappointed he couldn't find any empty blanks. But then he spotted Snook's printed name and he darted a look out from under his brows. He set his lips as if it were time to clean the tiolet. "Mr.....Starsharke?" "Aye." "What?" "Aye." "I?" "Oh.....yes. I mean yes." "I'm a busy man, mr. Starsharke. Please let's not waste time." "Aye." The other fought his facial muscles for control. "You may pick up your Grassalope next segment. Is there anything esle I can do for you?" Snook blinked. It's grazelope and next segment? "Why do I have to pick it up then? I'm naw turning it in for game-research..." "It's mandatory henceforth. All game will be examined and catalogued." Snook didn't know what to make of that: it'd been left up to each hunter to decide for himself if he wanted a kill to be examined for research purposes. It was included in the cost of the permit.... "Here: this will put you in the know." A pamphlet the size of a bible was drawn out to threaten Snook with. "Big changes coming, Mr. Starsharke." The name was spoken like.....Snook didn't know. And yet did know. Rain began to pound on the metal roof. He wasn't going to change his name: there was no shame in it to him. Others saw it different, though. A Starsharke was a Starsharke and that wasn't a name with many fans on this colony. But what could you do? Snook decided he'd ask for the permit for the skuda when he came back for the bait intended to catch it. Snook got the remi and walked out into the rain. It was a long walk back to the Williamson's. |
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| Iowanic | Sep 28 2009, 08:40 PM Post #11 |
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Adult
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"The Wilds Of Zeta." Part 5. "Sorry, Mr. Starsharke. I'm afraid a permit is out of the question. Good cycle." Snookeroo held himself together, barely. He'd had a good last 12 hours; that helped. Despite being drenched all the way back to the Williamson's; he'd avoided pneumonia and slept to his heart's content; which was 10 hours. He'd squared away his remi and even had a idea which loft he planned to set up his blind at. But this guy..... Snook contained his desire to slap the taste out the count-of-the-game-office's mouth. He shifted the red and white plastic cooler now encasing his frozen grazelope by way of assuaging his irk. "Out of the question? I thought peril and pestilence permits...." "Can only be granted to the owner of the land in question." Pale and grim; with his dorky 'bowl' haircut; had actually found the strength to raise his face away from the pile of papers still on his desk. Snook suspected the paper's rutting season had passed. They appeared to have multiplied. "You have indicated, Mr. Starsharke, you are not a property holder in the area. Therefore...." The man looked back to the land of forms; "I can't help you. Good cycle." "Then I'll purchase a game-points permit." "Costs have gone up." "I'll pay." "2,000 cotrs, then." Ok, thought Snook; I will naw pay. Seeing what he'd perhaps been hoping for in the other's face, the count......Chesterfield; said the name tag, smirked. His thin lips made it appear a frog had bit into something tart. "You have to understand, Mr. Starsharke....times are changing. You studied the literature I gave you, yes?" "Aye." "What?" "I read it." Snook hadn't read it, of course. It'd made good fire tinder, though.... "So you'll see: the wildlife and natural resource office has found it neccassary to return to the path of reason." "Really." "Let me just say this in parting, mr. Starsharke. The era of using the gun to solve environmental challedges is on the way out. The old, earthside order is outdated and we're living on a new planet.""It 'tis billions of seasons old." "What..." "Zeta 'tis naw a new planet..." "But we are new residents." Chesterfield looked like he'd scored a touchdown, to his own thinking. "Good cycle." Snook hefted the cooler to his chest, spun on a heel and went outside. What a fix this was becoming..... 2,000 cotrs....he couldn't dig that up anytime soon and he had to be in the blind by nightfall; it was going to be close even if he got the permit right away. 2,000 cotrs! What the heck was going on with the whole wildlife management routine? What had happened to make everything so expensive.... He ran options thru his head and there weren't many. He considered calling Rigel and asking him to grant his permission for the purchase of a peril and pestilence permit: the snicker-inducing 'p.p.p'. But since Rigel hadn't wanted him hunting skuda by himself in the first place; that was hardly likely to work. He'd have to go to his employer; Miss Caitlin Zmbisko; of the 'Gun Cafe' and ask for a advance on his pay. As he'd already taken liberties asking for two cycles off as it was.....well. Beggars canna be choosers... "You sink any deeper in thought, boy, you gonna drown." The voice came from a pickup idling on the roadway not far away. The vehicle alluded to once having been red; mud on the fenders and dust just about everywhere esle making it a task to be certain. A big fellow with mirrored sunglasses and cigarette in mouth was leaning out a rolled down window. Snook grinned. "Mr. Buck! Just in time...." "Oh, lord help me. Now what?" "I need a ride." "Don't you just." "I'll pay for gas." "Now you talkin'; git in." "I need ice. Gotta grazelope to keep cold." "To the quicky-shop we go. Git in; I said." A few minutes and a ice-stuffed cooler was in the back and a very pleased Snook in a seat upfront. The man driving hadn't lost a inch in height to age or a speck of swagger from his frame. The face had years and the voice confidence. Snook knew this man; 'Buck' Barrison. Heck; he was a friend of the family. Snook's uncle Gotham had persuaded this lawman of 20 plus years he was needed and he'd come along: wanting one last challenge. And if all this talk was true; as the colonys wildlife management director, Buck was likely finding it. "Where we goin'?" "Gimli." "Oh, grits-on-a-stick, Snuck. That's a hour each way." "So I'll owe you a pizza to go with the gas money." "owe, huh." "Life's been hard." "I hear ya. Buckle-up; Snuck..." "Snook." "Snook..." The vehicle, a typical natural gas/electric hybrid; got turned about and headed away from the airport complex. A big C-130 was rolling into position for take-off out there: It's noise kept at bay by closed windows and air conditioning on full. They rode in silence at first; dead east. In fact; they'd pass the Williamson's place as they went. Would Laddy; confined inside on guard-duty; spot him as they sped by? A few minutes and they passed it without comment; a adobe lump here then behind. Not many houses out this way: one or two farmers holding on by fingernails and sheer stubbornness. "Where's the dog?" "oh: I'm house sitting Rigel's place. He tapped the remi back and forth where it stood on the floorboards in front of him. "Laddy's standing guard." "Nothing like a good dog. My 'setter just had pups." "Well, praise the lord. I'm naw taking any, though." "Trade ya the pizza for one." "Tis naw happening, Mr. Buck." They laughed mildly a bit; Snook felt good here. Buck had a pump shotgun on a rack behind them and a holstered revolver. Ever the lawman at heart, Snook concluded. "Rigel? That's the Williamson's, right?" "Aye." "Well; there's someone who's earned a vacation. Where'd they go; if I may be so bold?" "Lake Kenobi. Two cycles of camping." "I got a belly fulla jealousy now. Wish I was up to re-retiring." Snook couldn't pass the opportunity up. He was simply too curious. And it wasn't so bad to have someone to talk to; once in a while. If they were decent folk. "Buck: what 'tis going on with wildlife management? I just got a quote on a skuda permit that about made me fall over. What 'tis costing so much now? And who hired this Chesterfield bozo? He 'tis as much fun as a flat tire. I canna make any sense of it." Buck grunted; as if having inhaled a few bits of gravel. he rolled his window down a few inches; letting in a jet of hot, dry air and he spat out his cig and rolled the window back up. He stared ahead a few minutes. "That Chestefield fella?" "Aye?" "He might end up with my job." Had Barrison offered to eat live eels; Snook couldn't have been more surprised. "Oh, you're joking." "I wish." "Why would they replace you with that deadfish? He called a grazelope a grassalope just the other segment. I think if I drove a stake into one of those paper stacks of his, he'd scream and drop dead." Buck grinned a bit at that. Glancing over to him, though, Snook could see the big man was a long way from happy about the subject. "Did you say something you should naw to someone who should naw have been hearing it, Mr. Buck?" "I did that from the start." Barrison watched the road in front of him a moment. "Things are changing, I guess. They always do." "A little consistency would be nice, methinx. Where 'tis all this money going to, anyway? Permit prices doubling? That 'tis ridiculous!" Buck nodded but only looked out at the road. The chance had passed: clearly Barrison didn't want to say more. They sat back and rode on in quiet. 10 minutes and the range road came up; running from Kovoko's chief town, Jetsam City to the north; down to the Gimli mining site. Snook lived there; if a pair of closet-sized rooms over the local bar counted as living. They cruised along; Hadrain's range to their left; all sorts of lumps in brown and black. Up aways; pointy contour-trees marched in their single file growth pattern north and south. Lower down, scalepine, with their iridescent leaf-fins overlapping to form a wall. Bellus shone down; asking no quarter and giving none. To the right was savanna; grasses and a few far off loft. A bit more and they'd come upon Gimli: snow-white steam mist drifting up beyond; where the ore-processing was undertaken. They went up the gentle incline to the plateau the settlement was laid upon. Stone-walling; twice the height of a man surrounded the place and 5 wooden towers were affixed at measured spaces along it. Figures of people could be seen on those towers: Gimli took it's defense serious. The gates would be closed and locked at nightfall and if you weren't a resident, you weren't getting in. The villiage of 200 itself was the road lined on either side by homes of earthwork or log construction. There was little beside homes but they did try to make them amiable. Earth-shrubs and flower-boxes were about and just about everyone had some manner of veggie-garden. Buck and Snook rolled down to near the far end of the lane and there to the left was a low building of illregular but big rocks: all mismatched in color, shape and size and seemingly; placement. There was a sign over the door: big sign; spray-painted in gloss orange and featuring a pair of toy AK-47's, barrels crossed, as if for luck. The gun cafe. Snook worked there. They stopped; Snook grabbed the cooler and used his passkey to avoid the necessity of having to be buzzed in. They got themselves in the door; Buck following with his shotgun and Snook's remi in tow. |
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| Iowanic | Sep 29 2009, 08:44 PM Post #12 |
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Adult
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"The Wilds Of Zeta" Part 6. They entered a half-circle booth/room set with hard wood and clean, thick glass windows. The lights, bright on this side; dim on the other, danced and slid along the windows. Snook raised his voice. "Yo, Kate! We home!" A head bobbed up on the other side. Something clicked, a door swung open and out she came. Caitlin Zmbisko was about 4 foot 10 and skinny enough to have been used for a q-tip. She had red hair; cut about a half inch above her skull; making it look like she were rusting. Her clothes were a nasty O.D green t-shirt; nasty ripped and spotted O.D green cargo pants(Hopelessly too big) and canvas shoes so small; they might have been part of a barbie-doll toy-set. She wore granny-glasses and smiled fit to break her jaw. "Oh, my god! Whatta buncha losers! And I haven't seen that ugly, toothless, fat s.o.b in too long." "Now I'm insulted." returned Buck Barrison. He smiled. "You left out I'm stupid." "You got that right." Caitlin caught Snook's eye with practiced skill. "Another 'lope?" "How can you tell?" "What else you hunt?" "I've taken two savelk." "Barely. Come back here, you S.o.b's. Let's spend some time." She guided beyond the door and into as confused looking assemblage of tables, gunracks, dangling lights, rifle stocks, firearms of all manner and drill-presses as there had ever been seen. There seemed no rhyme or reason but Snook knew better: he'd worked here near on half a season. A table with chairs was pointed to; Snook put the cooler aside and joined Buck in sitting down. Caitlin returned with three bottles intermingled in her fingers. "Beer; on the house." "Make mine a A+W, boss." Snook was stretching out his legs; they needed it. "Don't have any, you wuss." "Barq's." "Bleep you." "Shasta?" "Don't make me come over there." "Got any tea, miss Zm?" "Tea? You kidding? I could see if I got some iced-stuff. Tea?" "Got inta a habit of it; when I lived in G.B." "G.B?" "Great Britain; England; the United Kingdom. I used to drink coffee till my....well. I used to drink it. Tea now. Funny how people can change, if they want to." A twinkling and Snook had a mountain dew, Buck a tall glass of tea and Caitlin her beer. They all just drank and sat a bit. Caitlin; sitting on a reversed chair, turned from one then to the other. But neither would say anything. "Ok. What's up?" "Permit prices; for starters." "That so?" "Doubled." "S__t. That's a hit." "Only to those buying them." "Jee-zuz, Buck. I never figured you for robbery." Barrison grunted and looked composed. "I aint seeing a microcotr of it." "Then who 'TIS?" Snook hadn't wanted to sound so peeved. But it was out now and he looked down at his dew a few seconds before continuing. "I thought the idea was to get the system to pay for itself." "Then maybe it's not. Gotta make adjustments sometimes." "Naw, little lady. I'm no economist but we was paying the bills. They all wanna do more and they gonna get it from the pockets of them they can get it from." "Us." "Yep." Buck let it linger; sipping his tea. Snook looked irked. Caitlin took the lead. "Wait a second. Sit tight." She left her beer and went up front and made rummaging noises. She came back with a cardboard box half her size. Snook and Buck pulled their refreshments to safety as she dropped it on the table. They peered inside. The wildlife pamphlets. A couple dozen, at least. "Got this segment before last. Cute little letter attached. 'Please hand out to all prospective hunters.' They're just so polite! What'd ya think I should do with 'em?" Snook and Buck's faces said all they needed to on the subject. Caitlin took the box and disappeared out back. On returning, she clapping her hands in satisfaction; Buck spoke up ruefully. "Now Miss Zm; aint you the one to stir trouble! The director of wildlife and resources has to be certain all those indulging in our ecology's gifts are fully up on the rules and progress our scientific methods have wrought. We is entering a golden age of wildlife enlightment and we all better git on the train or be left standing at the station." "You sound like you just repeated something." "I did." "Holy s__t. 'we're from the goverment and we're here to help you!' Lordy, lordy! Get me my gun!" "What I do naw get 'tis the why behind all this? If it 'twas working...." "Aw, politics!" Buck took his glass in both hands and managed a minor smile. "We come billions of miles and we end up right back where we started: politics." "I do naw get you, Mr. Buck." "Snuck...." "Snook." "Snook; our wildlife department provides funds for research and takes critter tallys and samples to moniter wildlife health and interactions. We officials enforce the rules on them which funds all this; hunters and fisherfolk. Well. That's not enough of one thing and too much of another; to someone with certain connections." "Prime-minister Merrigold?" "Aw....maybe. I dunno: there's a lot of backroom B.S right now and what's comin' out of it kinda worries me. Merrigold's gettin' a lot of heat: gray-fur raids, the brown-furs given' us the cold-shoulder. We all heard about Alicia Merrigold done such a fine job running that high-school...." "It 'twas a college actually, Mr. Buck...." "Then college. She ran a college for 10 years on Earth and is the cat's meow then she comes here, gets elected Prime-minister and things suddenly aint so easy. I commiserate with her: hell; I voted for her! But it looks like she's decided to redo her promises and principles and we all better grab our butts now; 'cause we may not have 'em later." "God; I LOVE Zeta!" Caitlin suddenly turned eyes on Snook. "I thought you were house-sitting." "I am....um...." "You need another cycle." "No....umm...I need a advance on my pay..." Caitlin shook her head; Buck pushed back from the table. "I'm gonna go for a walk." "No; mr. Buck. Stay. I do naw mind. Nada to hide." Much, thought Snook. This wasn't going to be fun. He looked to his mountain dew bottle for inspiration but it was empty. "2,000 cotrs." "What the heck for? You get someone pregnant?" Buck Barrison chuckled, Caitlin smirked; Snook twisted in his seat till he could find words. "I need a skuda permit." "Damn. Double prices is right! Why are you hunting a skuda?" "We've found one poking about the Williamson's place." "Found? Seen?" tossed out Barrison. Snook shook a negative. "Tracks only; so far. I'm pretty sure I know where they're setting up. I'm gonna bait them and pop 'em....lord willing..." "And the creek don't rise. You usin' that Weatherby of yours? I reckon you could hit it from about a mile away with that." "No sir. What you see right here." "That's only a .270, though, aint it? All I read about skuda say .308 nay-too on up. You know what youre doing?" "Skuda are naw that big....." Barrison guffawed good-naturely. "Son; it aint the pounds on the beastie but the fight in 'em that makes 'em tough. .270 will take ya a long way, but you watch yourself." "Indeed." Snook turned; uncomfortably to glance at Caitlin. She looked at him like a wayward child and stood. "Be right back." She went up front and came back with something fluttering in her hands. She tossed it down in front of Snook and he picked it up for examination. It was a two-page entry form for 'shootapalozza'; hence in 7 cycles. The long-range shooting event, in fact. Snook dropped it like it were covered in acid. "Oh, jeez, boss! Come on! We been thru this....." "I need a shooter in shootapalozza, Snook. That's you." "You go!" "You're a better shot." "Naw hardly. I thought we'd settled this. I'm naw going." "Snook, listen, alright? I'm a business woman; I'm running the only gunshop on kovoko; which; strangely enough; just happens to employ you." "I've noticed that." "Kovoko has maybe 2500 folk. that's....what? 800 households?" "Probably closer to 700..." "How much profit do you think I make with just 700 frigs to help keep full and 700 examples of personal property to keep safe? Not much; let me tell you. We have to draw customers across the water, Snook. Oz is where prosperty sits. People won't send their messed up bang-bangs or ask for delux, custom-loaded ammo all that way; unless you offer something special. I do that; we do that. But we need publicity. We gotta be in people's minds when they thinking about firearms. We need one of my employees winning the premier firearms competition on Zeta." "Boss: it 'tis the only firearms competition on Zeta." "Whatever. I wanna win it." "I'm naw that good of shot, boss." "You good and we'll make you better. I'm working on a bolt-throw that will kick heiny. I'll tailor the ammo till it can find bulleyes even if you just threw it. We'll practice till you're sleeping on the range. We gonna win." "Boss....this does naw feel right." "2,000 cotrs= one shootapalooza." She dug out a pen and tossed it atop the entryform. "Sign." He did. |
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| Canis Lupis | Sep 30 2009, 03:44 PM Post #13 |
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Dinosaurs eat man, woman inherits the Earth.
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Here's one of mine, called "To Corrupt Man":
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| Iowanic | Sep 30 2009, 08:10 PM Post #14 |
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Adult
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"The Wilds Of Zeta" Part 7. Prairie-loft trees were humbling. They grew up from the soil of the continet of Kovoko; roots reaching as much as 3000 feet down to the aquifers that cooled them in summer and warmed them during the winter. As much as 2/3's of a prairie-loft's 'bio-mass' was below ground. There are just numbers; one may not be able to realize the humbling aspects to this. Till one stood under a prairie-loft. They were tall: some up to as much as 250 feet(rarely); many in the 200 feet range. But what they encompassed with their limbs was where the humbling began to come into play. A large loft could cover 500 acres. When you stood under that; looking up into a bowl not of blue sky and cloud, but of black branch and dark green foliage: you were reduced to trivia in the game of life. You were having a there-on-the-spot brush with mother nature and you ended up knowing your place in things. Snookeroo thought he abide it as well as anyone. He'd hiked by these colossuses; camped a few nights under them. Even climbed into one once. They were magnificent and they were scary. He loved them but had learned, in turns, as focal-points on the savanna, lofts held as much threat as greeting. The savanna could give and it could take away and the lofts were as formidable expression of the concept as any. Prairie-loft; reviewed Snook; heading back to the blind after the baiting was in place. Dungeon-loft was more like it. It was dark under there; Belluslight was slanting in as Bellus was in the home stretch to the west. He came out from under the limb-border; a great green overhang. But bare, brick red/brown soil ran out for near another 700, 800 feet. Prairie-loft looked after itself; the colonists had learned. Their leaves sweat a chemical that would drip down onto the soil from the occasional warm-weather rains and moreso from snowmelt at the start of spring. Those chemicals kept all but the most hardy groundcover cleared; thus no competition for soil fertility. It also served well from the late summer thru fall brush fires. The soil had been dried from the recent storms and his clodhoppers kicked up little spouts of dust. There was a network of 3-toed grazelope tracks all about; crisscrossing; one atop another. A good spot to bait a predator he was certain. He came upon his blind: just a oval nest of machete-cut shrubs; laid on their sides but with 4 thoughtfully placed gaps he could aim from. He squeezed in; went to his haunchs and got alert. He was very much alone in the blind: Laddy again on house guard-duty. The dog could be quiet; of course; well enough for any venture where lack of sound benefitted. But Snook felt he had to do this himself. He didn't rightly know why. It was a funny thing, certainly. But he'd fret it when it was done and finished. This called for as much luck as planning or precision....and he needed to be here. Now. Aw.....let's naw get spacey. Keep a eye out. You're hunting. His back was to Bellus and facing the core of the loft; just out from under the overhang of greenery. The blind didn't blend as well with the raw soil as he'd wished but he reckoned on neither 'lope or skuda caring. Be quiet; do naw move around; keep covered. the blind and what hid inside would just appear to be a stray clump of bushes. Yep....everything was under control. He checked his viewpoints in turn; using the binos but there were no hints of close activity. He did see a big flock of shadow-rays drift over out of the east; heading west further into the savanna; their great numbers causing shadows to chase across the ground like something begging not to be left behind. He rechecked the viewpoints; one by one. No 'lope; no skuda. He sat back; had a granola bar and waited somemore. Alpha-Bellus lowered; shadows lengthing in toward the loft. Something up in the loft branches scampered and climbed, then gave a single hoot. Whatever it was shut up or went elsewhere; it grew quiet again. Snook took to the binos; east, west, north, south. Nothing moving in the grasses. On the wait went. Sound came again: to his right, south. A distant yodelling, many. Mixed together; dozens of them; like a chorus uncoordinated and far away. Savelk, Snook recognized. They'd be heading south now; rising with the ending of the cycle to travel to their next feeding spot. They were beautiful creatures: the royalty of Kovoko. Being south; they'd probably already passed this loft a cycle or two before. So he wasn't likely to see any up close. Good thing, he assured himself. Their great long legs, in measured, circumspect strides; tended to scare grazelopes off. 'Lopes fed out between lofts; Savelk followed the ragged lines of diminitive trees and shrub that ran from loft to loft. Another example of a nature-made highway. Still, Snook found himself thinking. Savelk: they were so uniquely Kovokan. A hour then another. A few more and Bellus would nip the horizen. A few more hoots and climbing noises came from the loft. Night creatures were warming up for their role. Snook checked viewpoints; again and again. He indulged in his themos of chicken-noodle soup and checked some more. He sat and checked every round in every one of his 5 rifle magazines; just to do so. He bino'ed the grasses; he bino'ed the loft, he bino'ed the sky for any flying critters. The shadows were pretty long now: running out from his blind like a trail; as if the blind had been dragged as whole; right to the spot. He shifted and looked and decided he really, really hated hunting from a blind. Dang it....he knew he'd planned this out right! The grazelopes would come and the skuda was probably even now setting up to nail one. So; why hadn't it come check out the half-'lope he'd hung from the loft periphery? If only he could see further! The binos did their job but the stretchs of dog-ear and more so; featherfern cut the visibility of sitting human no little. He bit a lip. As it was; he might not see a skuda lurking; setting up for a rush; unless it was awful close: hardly a comforting thought. The window to get a shot off would be brief; a instant. Visibility. He needed visibility. He had to see the skuda as soon as possible. And a clear, unobstructed shot was nothing to dismiss. Higher up; he determined. I need to get off the ground. His eyes centered on the prairie-loft. |
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| SIngemeister | Oct 1 2009, 01:46 PM Post #15 |
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Hive Tyrant of the Essee Swarm
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There are just little bits of it spread throughout. My writing style has multiple personalities. |
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My Deviantart RRRAAAAAARRRRGGGGHHH!!!!! | |
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