Read Singularity's Ring Online
Authors: Paul Melko
Singularity's Ring (24 page)
Manuel sent,
Bear mud wallow here.
Bear mud wallow here.
The tracks were recent, bear tracks as long as Strom’s foot and as wide as mine. They led around the lake; perhaps the bears were stalking moose.
We followed, gathering blackberries as we walked. The land was more giving here than even the Amazon had been. The berries were just short of ripeness, tangy and bitter. I threw a half-mashed one at Manuel and turned to grab another one before he fired back.
I heard a chuff in the berries and froze. Automatically I released fear pheromone, and as I did a beast rose up in front of me.
It was three meters high, a blond-colored grizzly bear that stared at me with light brown eyes. The chuff turned into a growl. Saliva dripped from its mouth, which was covered in blackberry juices.
Friend?
There was no pheromone smell to this bear, no chemical memories, just the musky, musty odor of the bear den we had found that morning. This wasn’t a gene-modded bear; this one was wild.
Don’t move. Don’t turn and flee.
I had considered running. But the math was obvious even without Quant. My frail human body took me twenty kilometers an hour; the bear could run at sixty kilometers an hour for short bursts.
Fear fled from my mind, replaced by a practical view. I could see the bear from all directions. Its dished-in face was wider than my torso. Short ears adorned its head. It swung its head back and forth and chomped its jaw.
“Scat,” Strom yelled. He had found a stick on the rocky shore and was waving it.
Back away slowly,
Meda advised.
Meda advised.
I took one step back, then another. The bear remained standing in front of me. On my third step, the bear charged.
I dodged to the right, diving over gravelly rocks. The bear skidded past me and turned itself.
Sand!
Strom’s thought.
Strom’s thought.
A rock, thrown by Quant, thunked its skull, but it didn’t even notice. It launched itself toward me. I threw a handful of sand at its face and rolled again.
It sneezed, but a paw grazed my chest, knocking the wind out of me. It was a beast made of steel.
Strom’s branch was in its face then.
“Find a tree and climb it!” he yelled.
His branch split halfway up its length and was covered
in dried leaves that rattled in the bear’s face. The rest of us dashed into the woods while Strom distracted it.
in dried leaves that rattled in the bear’s face. The rest of us dashed into the woods while Strom distracted it.
I found a tree and bolted up it second only to Manuel. We turned and pulled Quant and Meda into the top branches. From there I had a clear view of Strom dancing in front of the bear.
It reared up again, standing a meter taller than he.
He yelled and dodged in front of it.
“Hey ya! Hey ya!”
Pigeon-toed, it tottered after Strom. A claw snagged Strom’s branch, tearing it from his grasp.
He turned then and ran, splashing into the lake.
Bears can swim!
I sent.
I sent.
Yes, but not as fast as they can run,
Quant replied.
Quant replied.
Strom stretched out and dove into the water, just a few meters ahead of the bear. The bear was running now after him, crashing into the water. But Strom was already slashing the water with his crawl stroke. Even weighed down with his wet clothes, he outdistanced the bear.
When the bear realized it would never catch him, it howled, then turned back to land. Strom stayed where he was, treading water.
The bear came back toward our shore, waddled onto the rocks, and shook itself. It sniffed the air, then looked right at us.
It can knock trees this size over,
Quant sent.
Quant sent.
But it ambled past us and disappeared into the forest.
Strom swam back to shore and pulled himself onto a boulder. We dropped down to the ground and joined him, keeping one eye on the forest line. He’d shed his backpack near the water’s edge, but his shoes were lost. We wrung his thick socks out and left them to dry on the rocks.
That wasn’t our bear,
I sent.
I sent.
I think you’re right.
I was bruised but otherwise unhurt. We fashioned moccasins for Strom from our excess clothing, and then started hiking as soon as we were able. We wanted as much distance between us and that bear as we could put.
We had bought a slingshot and Quant used it to bring down fowl. When we could, we caught fish, either with spear or hook. In many ways it was an idyllic time for us, without any of the rigorous study and competition that had marked our education until then. Even Strom, who pursued his bears with a relentlessness that seeped into our dreams, relaxed in the weeks we tracked across the mountains.
It was easy to forget that the OG had tried to maim us in the Amazon, that we had run from Columbus Station, that we had nearly been sundered by drugs, and that we had avoided a mauling by centimeters.
The Ring, just ten thousand kilometers above us, a mere strip of silver, day and night, still fettered us. There was nowhere we could go on Earth or near space where it did not hover near us. And the Ring reminded us of Malcolm Leto.
To supplement our diet, we ate berries, so many berries that we pooped seeds every night. Wild blackberries lined all the trails we followed. Raspberries we also found, but not as often. The wild strawberries were too small and bitter for me to eat, but Manuel loved them.
We also ate acorns, ground into a pulp in one of our bowls and baked on a hot rock next to the fire. The roots of cattails were starchy and tasteless once boiled. With dandelion greens and morel mushrooms the roots made an almost decent soup. These were all skills we had learned in survival training. The summer was abundant, but there was no doubt that we would have to leave by fall, whether we found the bears or not. We could not survive a winter.
I know,
Strom sent.
Strom sent.
We can’t search-hide forever,
I sent.
We must go to Mother Redd.
I sent.
We must go to Mother Redd.
Not yet.
Later.
I could have forced a more formal consensus with veto pheromone, but I let it pass.
We saw more signs of bears, day dens and scratching trees. We also found fresh and dried scat. From afar, we watched two cubs and their mother frolic in a mud hollow. They were not our bears either.
In a valley plain, thick with tall green grass, we watched a herd of elk graze. A few minutes later, a bruin erupted from the treeline and took down a nearby elk bull. Manuel spotted it first.
Look!
The elk met the bear’s charge with its new antlers, tossing the bear back. Undeterred, the bear swiped at the elk, catching its antlers and bending its neck. It flopped over on its side, and the bear was upon it, gouging flesh with its claws, and biting down on the back of its skull with its huge jaws.
Not a grizzly,
Strom sent.
Strom sent.
It was a brown bear, its fur a solid brown without the distinctive silver mane, though he looked liked a grizzly in other respects. We watched as he crushed the elk’s skull, and then sat down to feed on its haunch. The rest of the herd, which had darted at the initial pounce, continued grazing not too far away, apparently unconcerned now that the bear had its kill.
After it had finished a large section of the haunch, the bear stood and dragged the carcass toward the woods. Near the treeline, it bent over and used its powerful claws to dig a hole. We learned then what the hump of muscle on its shoulders was for. With a half-dozen sweeps of its arms, it had dug open a hole that all of us could have stood in up to
our knees. In this it dumped the carcass and covered it with leaves and tree limbs. Dinner for tomorrow. We watched, then planned a route around the far side of the valley; we didn’t want to come between the bear and his larder.
our knees. In this it dumped the carcass and covered it with leaves and tree limbs. Dinner for tomorrow. We watched, then planned a route around the far side of the valley; we didn’t want to come between the bear and his larder.
By the time we were six weeks into our trip, we were beginning to see the futility of our hunt. I needed a decent shower, and I knew we were ranker than we could smell since our noses had grown accustomed. We had almost decided to hike back to Denver and find some sort of job for the winter, maybe trying again in the spring.
But that same day we were discussing the chill in the air and the first colored leaves on the trees, Strom’s bears appeared out of nowhere and sat down at our campsite.
Strom,
the biggest bear sent, a male. We did not smell the thought ourselves, but heard the call through Strom. It wasn’t until later that all of us could speak directly to the bears.
the biggest bear sent, a male. We did not smell the thought ourselves, but heard the call through Strom. It wasn’t until later that all of us could speak directly to the bears.
“Hello!” Strom cried, and hugged the bear in his arms. Even as big as he was, his arms did not reach around the bear’s neck.
This is Papa, Roam, and Sleepy,
he announced.
he announced.
The two females chuffed at us, and the smell of chemical thought was heavy in the air. Through Strom we understood their greetings. Sleepy sprawled down on the dirt next to us and closed her eyes.
I have seldom seen Strom more happy, and so we all were, bears and humans alike.
We followed the bears, foraging, though we were less followers than ad hoc bears. They seemed to view us as such. We followed a well-worn bear trail, feeding as we went: the same berries we had been eating all summer. The bears also chewed on pine trees, tearing away at the bark with their paws to get at the cambium layer; Roam was especially
fond of the white pine and would ask the pod to take kilometer-long hikes off the trails to find one she knew of.
fond of the white pine and would ask the pod to take kilometer-long hikes off the trails to find one she knew of.
Whereas in a human pod, consensus governed our larger actions, Papa seemed to be the decider. Though on at least one occasion, Roam and Sleepy vetoed Papa. This was when they caught wind of other humans. Papa wanted to look for them, possibly meet them, but the two females did not. There was a spike of fear in their minds, but also resolution. Papa mentally shrugged and agreed.
It wasn’t just berries and bark that the bears ate, however. We watched with fascination as Roam and Sleepy herded a huge antelope toward a hollow where Papa lurked. With a slap of his paw, he broke the animal’s neck. It had taken them two minutes of effort to feed themselves for the next two days.
While they feasted on bloody antelope flesh, we caught and roasted a couple of fish over a fire. Roam watched with interest as I started the fire.
I wish I had a thumb,
she sent.
she sent.
I laughed, then said,
Just one?
Just one?
She looked from her left to right front paw.
One would be enough.
One would be enough.
Sleepy dragged a haunch of antelope over to the fire.
Cook it?
The pod shared a glance, then I shrugged. Strom went to find a strong enough spit, while Meda and Manuel built up the fire. We roasted the antelope for them, and they ate it with the same abandon that they ate the raw stuff. They did say it tasted good.
Ninety percent of their diet was vegetarian, however, supplemented with meat every other week or so. In addition to deer, moose, and antelope, the bears caught mice, rabbits, and moles. On one occasion I saw Roam pulling up the grass turf with her paws, as if she were pulling up
carpet, while Sleepy watched. As soon as the turf came up, Sleepy pounced on the mice Roam had uncovered, collecting five or six in her paws. The bears would divvy the mice up, then do it again.
carpet, while Sleepy watched. As soon as the turf came up, Sleepy pounced on the mice Roam had uncovered, collecting five or six in her paws. The bears would divvy the mice up, then do it again.
The bears led us to the north, through valleys of forests and glades. An Indian summer had drawn forth the insects, the greenery, and the animals. Several times we saw deer, elk, and even a mountain lion.
Though Strom had been the only one of us who could understand the bear’s speech at first, now all of us could to some extent, even without taking cues from Strom’s thoughts. Their minds were not like ours. They were practical beasts, somber, yet not without humor. Their jokes came in the form of stories about silly cubs, lost cubs, arrogant cubs, who always learned better at the end. When the silverback laughed, it was a deafening, intimidating roar.
How far have we traveled today?
asked Roam of me once. She reeked of humor.
asked Roam of me once. She reeked of humor.
Seven kilometers,
I sent, getting the number from Quant.
I sent, getting the number from Quant.
No, we have traveled from the fallen rock to the broken stump.
She laughed again.
She laughed again.
There is a broken stump on your head.
Roam thought that was the funniest thing ever thought.
That night, as we found shelter from a summer rainstorm in a cave they knew of, the bears told us this story. Each bear took a line or two and evoked the story. Papa started it:
Little Cub found his voice one day out on a limb that was beginning to bow under his weight.
Mama! Mama!
he called.
he called.
Mama! Mama!
he called again, as the limb was about to snap.
he called again, as the limb was about to snap.
“My, what a smell you have,” said the blue jay. He fluttered around Little Cub’s head.
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