Cage Dunn's Blog, page 94

The First Test

Copyright CS Dunn 2015

They ran for six days and most of three nights, averaging 55 milmetris for each day and 45 for each night. Shadow pushed them for some extra effort the last two days and they reached the Sea of Sand, 500 milmetri from their starting point. The only stop they made was at the nomad’s hut to pick up extra supplies and water, and they had to sneak into the hut in the darkest part of the night because the guard posted at the hut was very alert. Pax put a sedative in the water trough and they waited for a full hour after he’d drunk from it before he drooped at his post.

Before they left, Shadow sent Gheis to secure the food vats and to put their supply chit on the casks to confirm their visit. He had turned to Pax and told Pax to do it.

“I told you to do it, Gheis. So do it. Now.” Shadow turned to Pax, tried to unknot her stomach.

“You,” she looked at Pax and pointed to the guard, “check that he’s alright.” The words still had a snarl to them. She turned back to Gheis, but he had gone. Was he doing what she told him to do? Would she need to check on him? No. If he didn’t do his job, take responsibility for the tasks she gave him, she’d find out, and … and … well, if he didn’t do it, she’d make him sorry. If he cost her success, if he caused the mission to fail, she’d make him pay. And pay and pay and pay. There was only ever one chance to be the first to succeed on the first mission.

Shadow emptied the water from the trough and turned off the valve so the water wouldn’t automatically start flowing from the low level gauge. It would be a sign to say they had been there – and gone. The first part of their test successfully completed. Despite Gheis’ lack of effort.

She wanted to give him other tasks, get him out of her hair, but she had to finish the mission with all her troopers, and they all had to be alive. If he made one more comment, if he stepped in front and led the way one more time, if he even looked at her the wrong way again, she would dong him. Hard. He may be tall, he may be big, but at that moment, he was a pain in her backside, a pain in her head, and he wasn’t letting her be the troop leader. He wasn’t following her lead.

Shadow had started in the lead; she led them through all the areas she knew well, and she knew the how to avoid the ambush areas, the guarded zones. But Gheis picked up the pace and got in front. Three times he had led them into areas of risk. Three times she had told him to get back into the tail-end position. Three times he had gone back, but not to the tail. He only went behind her, and left Pax to guard their rear.

Pax was not the best person for the tail end; she was slow to do the turns, she was heavier and her tracks were deeper. Gheis should be there to ensure the tracks weren’t too obvious; to ensure they could not be easily tracked. That was his job. That was supposed to be is job.

 

The Sea of Sand was their second destination, and even though exhausted, they needed to dig in before the herders passed. Shadow could see the dust from the herds moving from the south west towards their position near the waterhole.

She positioned Pax furthest from the trail, and her hide was in a clump of saltbush. After they checked it for snakes and other bities, Pax lay on the ground while Shadow put the canvas over her and Gheis covered her with branches of saltbush. They peppered the canvas with red sand and stood back. Pax was invisible to the casual look. Shadow handed in the three dark red stay-awake berries. Pax folded them into her hand.

Gheis dug his hole closest to the trail, and after Shadow covered him in brush and sand, only his eyes were visible when she checked from all angles. She was satisfied. As long as he didn’t move, he would remain unseen. Shadow backtracked from both hides with a clump of brush to scuff away their tracks.

Her hide was easier – a slight overhang of red sandstone surrounded by clumps of windmill grass. It had the best view of the trail and was higher than the other two. She dug herself in sideways so she wouldn’t be completely under the overhang. She took out a small pouch of food and her water bag, put the pack at her feet, and pulled clumps of the grass to her sides and front, tossed several shrubby clumps on top, left only a small opening at the front to watch.

She settled in, pummelled her hooch into a swag roll and laid her hands and chin on it. She knew they would be here for several hours at least, maybe even a whole day, and she knew the herders were coming this way. This waterhole was the only place to water stock before reaching the grazing lands east of Lake Teeni. She hoped they didn’t stay more than one day.

Shadow watched the ‘enemy’ approach. The herders and shepherds, with their dogs and horses and camels, raised a dust cloud that was visible several hours before they came into sight. Now she could smell them – the camel pong was the strongest, but the goat smell was almost as rich. She hadn’t seen the goats on the trail; however, she did smell them.

She signalled Pax and Gheis, indicating number of enemy troops and their distance from the target. They had been watching all day, waiting for just this moment. She snacked on the seeds and nuts she had put into her front tunic pocket, and swigged a mouthful of water from her small pouch. If she was careful, she could last another four days on her food supplies. She hoped they wouldn’t be here that long. Water was always the most important item, no water – no life, and even with a full water bag, she only had enough for two days.

She was glad she packed the extra water bags. Especially if the herders stayed for more than one day. It was better if they didn’t have to move just to get water from whoever carried it. In this arid land, water would make or break people. And it always broke the invaders. She stretched her legs and arms and neck, careful not to move too quickly or to let any part of her body leave the hide. She wrote down the numbers, the date and the time and put the notes back into her inner vest pocket. Her earbud clacked out a message.

–. ..-. DaDaDit DitDitDaDit

Rude, but she smiled anyway. Gheis was probably hungry, thirsty and cramped; he would have to wait until the herders left before they could come out. He either had no food left, or hadn’t thought to take some out of his pack. And his big body would be aching from the enforced stillness. They were still at least two tasks short of accomplishing the mission. She tapped her crystal earbud to reply with the usual message:

..-. .-.. .– .–. .-. -.-. -.. .-. DitDitDaDit DitDaDitDit DitDaDa DitDaDaDit DitDaDit DaDitDaDit DaDitDit DitDaDit

Flw prcdr (Follow procedure).

The ‘enemy’ for this exercise were the sheep, goats, shepherds, three sheep dogs and several horses and camels which were either being ridden or used as pack animals. If they didn’t respond in any way to the hidden danger – her team – the second task of the exercise was accomplished. This was the role of her group – to stay hidden and relay messages. She watched the shepherds unpack and set up camp. One of the dogs was agitated and wary. He must have picked up on something. Shadow watched him carefully as he sniffed in circles, raising his head occasionally to sniff at the air.

They would have to be diligent or they would be required to do the exercise again, this time with the camel or horse herders, and they were almost impossible to hide from. Shadow settled her body into the sand, trying to ignore the itch and burn of the sandflies zooming in on her exposed skin. She would have to ask Pax for some lavender oil next time so she could use it to keep the pests away. The smell – would that give them away? They could not use anything that would make it easy for someone to find them, so no stink-pretty, and these shepherds and their dogs had good noses.

She would have to put up with the buzzing, biting, bleeding things. It was bad enough putting up with the flies – these sandflies were worse; they stung. And the itch that came after – she had almost scratched herself raw on one arm. She dribbled a tiny bit of water on the red welts. It didn’t help, and it wasted water.

The shepherds set up camp at the water trough. Some of them worked through the night, pumping water to the trough, fetching water to the animals, putting out feed, and walking the perimeter boundary lines. At least one dog accompanied the person on perimeter guard. Shadow fought off the dull heaviness, the gritty feeling of sand scratching at her eyes. She needed to stay awake to ensure their cover and to watch the dogs.

Dawn was just beginning to lighten the sky to the east. She had watched the camp all night; watched their night-watchers watching the darkness, as they listened to the night sounds, as they sniffed at the air for sign of predators and enemy.

Shadow watched as the ragged purple streaks from the Narowi massif to the north began to lighten, and the peaks shimmered to the blue and grey hues of the daylight. Even though it was more than 500 milmetri away, the massif was still intimidating. She couldn’t even see the highest peaks, and the cloud at the top was permanent. It took on the same hue of the massif, making it look as if it went all the way to the top of the world and beyond. For all she knew, maybe it did.

The chill would become worse for the next hour, the heat would kick in, the light ground mist would burn off, and from the sea of sand to Hell’s Gate the sun and heat would scorch anything stupid enough to be in the area. Hell’s Gate was their next destination, and it would be hell. She sipped at her water, rolling it around her mouth before swallowing. She scratched absent-mindedly at her arm.

They would move on to Lake Teeni, where at least they would have water and trees, and maybe even a swim. Their final destination was Ulamba, the sacred cave, where they would meet up with one of the Master Judges for their debriefing and grade. The route from Lake Teeni to Ulamba was rocky and harsh, and would probably take them at least four days, even if the distance wasn’t that far. The rocks would hold the heat, and there was no water or food between Lake Teeni and the cave. It was the worst part of the mission. They would need to be fully stocked and rested before they started on that leg.

Shadow knew she would get the best score. She was the best student, the top of all her classes except healing, and her talent for disappearing made this task easy. She knew the guards posted along their route had not seen them, and now the second part of the test was almost over. An easy task.

And it looked like it was over. The shepherds were packing up and preparing to move; they would head to Lake Teeni and the Wild Horse Plains. The dog was still wary, and Shadow watched him closely. His tail was straight back, his ears up, his nose down, his belly low to the ground. He definitely had something on his mind. The dog went to a crawl, and his ears dropped back and down. He sprang. The rabbit didn’t stand a chance. One growl, one shake, and the dog carried his trophy back to camp, wagging his shaggy tail.

A rabbit. Thank the One for that, but it was still too close to Gheis. He’d better not move, or she’d kick him all the way back to Aramel, five whole days away, two if they used the sand kites from the nomad resupply hut. She liked the idea of kicking him for five days if he blew their cover, or argued with her again, or …. Well, any reason would do. He was beginning to annoy her with his comments and suggestions. She was the leader of this troop; she would be the one to say how, say when, say what. That was the role of the leader.

The mission was to hone and test their skills before graduation from the military academy. The last examination before they could take their adult name at the ceremony that covered both graduation and name-day. Shadow did not know what her adult name would be. She liked the name Shadow. Jeffers gave her that name, the man who had become her foster father. A military man to his bones, a Pongo for life.

Would she carry on his tradition? She didn’t know, and as R’Cci was going to be at the ceremony, she didn’t know if she had a choice, or if R’Cci would ask something else of her life. After all, R’Cci had claimed her, and the H’Rucca had final say in all things of Narrung. Shadow didn’t remember being captured by Jeffers, didn’t remember anything before she went before the Council, but Darkan loved the story, so Jeffers told it many, many times.

 

Summer, West Midlands Coast, Australia

Childhood

Summer. Wind scorches skin. No leaves to shelter beneath. Trees grow bent at ninety degrees if they make it to waist height. Everlasting daisies in yellow and pink and white rustle and rattle in the breeze.

No green.

Summer. Parents wilt on the back verandah. Radio on low volume. Outback long-drop dunny buzzes with visitors. Needs more ash. Later. After dark. Move away from adults, sneak out to the creek line.

No water. Shrubs grey and scrubby. Kangaroos flopped in the darker shadows. Cross at disturbance. Flap their ears, lick at paws.

Go quietly. Grab that barbed wire. Let’s build a canoe.

Barbed wire doesn’t float.

No water to float in. Let’s build a canoe-shaped mud-bath.

Now you’re talking.

Mud and blood – it is barbed wire – and sweat and tears and laughter and screams. The mud-bath emerges, for a moment. As the sides collapse back into the freshly dug sand, cool wetness oozes from the bottom.

It really is a bath – but there’s no mud!

Grab some dirt – there, near the ‘roos. Dig it out, they won’t mind – no boomers in this lot.

Got it – now what?

Drop it here, get more. Build up this end and that end, so it keeps the shape – work in to the middle. There, like that!

Hankies laid in the base, water sipped from the clean side. Keep up the water, suck on the lump of rock salt – all the kids have a bit in their pockets or hat. Wait for the sun to lower, for the heat to fade, for the ‘roos to move on.

Wait! What are they doing? They’re pinching our water-hole! They want our bath. Quick, run – here comes the boomer! Run, faster; head for home – no, not yet. Here, we’ll sit here and watch. Was that your good hankie? Too bad. You’ll have to say the ‘roos ate it, or something – they won’t believe you anyway, so the truth is easiest. We should do that with our homework – the ‘roos ate it! Won’t that be a laugh. Only the kids on School of the Air will believe it – none of the city kids could say that!

Out here, in summer, we don’t do much. It is the season of wait. After the crops have been harvested, after the schools have sent the boarders home, after the paddocks are bare and brown and grey – that’s the season of wait. Wait until the galahs move on, wait until the creek flows with dull grey water from the rain up north, wait until the days aren’t eighteen-eight, just wait.

Seasons change, summer stillness becomes autumn pain. Plough the paddock, plant the wheat, move the sheep to the lower plains – dust eddies show which farm is ploughing, which one is seeding, which paddock is being sprayed or burned or barrelled.

We wait. School goes on, in the summer. School of the Air – we need to speak to real people, we need to chatter and gabble and babble, laugh and cry and promise and pray. Even out here, in the middle of nowhere, community is people communicating. Even in childhood, we understand.

Summer. The season of wait.

 

Turn up the sun,

Then you can leave, quietly.

Remember

copyright CS Dunn

Remember

What was your name

How can I remember you

My blackened heart

My shattered soul

Images of what could have been

Mark me

Lost

Did I give you a name

Was there a name for the life that slipped away

Was there time to bestow a name

To something not yet someone

Was there time to grieve

Tell me your name

To bring you to life in my memories

I knew the second I lost you

The moment you died

Will the time come

When I can give you a name

Your own name

Is there a name

The dreams

The hopes

The ambitions

A name to remember

To fill the hole that is now my heart

To ease the pain of my tortured soul

There is no name

Those few precious moments when you had life

Have faded

Into

A few precious moments

That are only mine

I lost you

 

published in: Speculations of a Dark Nature, Shorts Vol I: Near Death Experiences 2016

 

The Debt

Chard was more than a little surprised to see his visitor.

“Mac,” he said “you know there’s a pretty heavy price tag on your head, so what are you doing here?”

Mac was dirty and scruffy, obviously having spent the few days since his escape in some pretty low holes.

“How did you get out, anyway? They had a watcher in there with you, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Mac said. “I got away from Thor for a few hours because the top dog wanted a bitch. I killed the top dog, and got out through the laundry – top dogs assignation parlour!” He was quiet a moment.

“If I’m marked, the very least I can do for myself is to pick my own watcher – and I’d rather you did it than that monster Thor. You know he likes to take his time and the tools he uses – I can’t even stand the thought of it. If I’m going to die, I’d rather you did it. At least you can snap my neck and have me out of my misery quickly. First though, I want to tell you why I’ve been marked – you may be able to use it to save yourself one day.”

“They told me you ripped them off for a mil or two,” Chard said.

“No, I have no money and I took no money,” Mac countered. “Let me tell you the real story, then make up your own mind.”

Mac told his story. It was fascinating to Chard’s ears, and it made his stomach heave and burn. When Mac finished talking, Chard went and fixed breakfast and came back in with a tray and a jug of coffee.

“Here, eat this and let me think a bit, then we’ll talk, okay. I’m going out to do a workout so I can think clearly. And watch out for the mad bird, he likes to steal food from strangers – and he bites!” Chard left, and immediately mad bird appeared from the hallway. Mac fed him bits of toast and egg, and had his fingers grabbed a couple of times.

“Listen, mad bird, don’t bite, or I won’t feed you. Why don’t you have a proper name anyway? It must be a bit down to be called mad,” Mac muttered under his breath.

“I haven’t given him a real name, because he may not like a name I give him, and until he tells me what he wants his name to be, I’ll call him by his actions.” Chard wiped his face with a small red towel as he came into the room.

“Out, mad bird,” he said. Mad bird casually strolled over to the main window and flew up to the curtain, where he commenced to strip wood from the timber moulding.

Chard sat down opposite Mac, and poured himself a coffee. He looked into his cup for a long time.

“I have an idea about what we can do, but first I need to find a body that fits your description enough for them to have no doubt about your being dropped. Let me tell you what I think, then we’ll thrash out a few details, okay.”

Mac listened attentively. There were several more coffees. At lunchtime, Chard continued talking while he made a light lunch. When he had finished, Mac was terrified.

“Mate, I’m not sure about this – are you sure they haven’t bugged your place?”

“I go through the place with a fine tooth comb every day and what I miss, Mad bird gets – he can sense where people have been in here. You realise you’re the only person he’s let in the house?” Chard flicked his fingers and mad bird flew down and sat on the chair next to him.

“Bugs, mad bird, where are the bugs?” Chard said.

“Bugs,” screeched mad bird. “Bugs, no bugs, bugs, no bugs.”

“Okay, mad bird. Thank you.” Chard smiled at the bird. Mac had never seen Chard smile before.

“So,” Chard continued, “do you want to do it?”

“Yes, but tell me more about the security for the conference room first. I need to know it inside out if I’m going to sort it.” Mac would already be going over things in his head. Chard knew it would be a few more hours before Mac was ready. He started explaining the security system, and where people would be seated.

 

Two weeks later, Chard watched a news story about a building in town that blew up. Damage extended for two blocks, with shattered windows and flying debris. The police statement said that: …. This act of terrorism is suspected of being undertaken by the triad based in Australia and aimed at a rival triad group, possibly in the fight for drug territories …. Evidence for this conclusion includes a warrior with his sword drawn at killer stroke painted on the forehead of each of the victims on the top floor, and that each of these people had been beheaded by the single stroke of a sword.

 

Chard and his recent house-mate watched the events unfold on television.

“What do you think, Arnie?” he asked. “Think we did a good enough job?”

Arnie laughed.

“I don’t think the child prostitution racket will last much longer, do you?”

He scratched at the bandages on his face. “How long before I can get these things off? I’m itching like a flea farm.”

“Only another two weeks, Arnie. Then we’re on the way to offering our services to the next bunch of arseholes who don’t want to do their own dirty work.”

 

Copyright Cage Dunn 2016

Choice (©CageDunn2016)

“That wasn’t how it was supposed to be,” he said. “I can do better this time.”

A sound held him still; he was unable to move in the firmness of the bubble of warmth. Was it a word that was said? Should he ask again? He could have done better last time. He should have done better several times. He knew that now.

It was hard, so hard, to forgive. To move forward, to move up, he had to find that forgiveness, had to let go of the concept of retribution. There were rules. No one was beyond the rules. Even the one who stood on the top step could fall if he disobeyed, or distorted the rules.

“I can do better. You know I can do better. Please. Just one more chance. I’ll do it right. I won’t go the dark way.”

No response. Okay. What could he do or say to improve his chances, to move toward the zone of acceptance, of being complete?

“What is your name?”

He had to think about that. Name? What was a name? The label for this place, or the last place, or the one before that? No. His name for this place, his ‘between’ name, the name that listed his achievements and failures, that mentored new travellers to this prism. His name was . . .

“Endititio – the beginning and end.”

The sound behind him laughed, coughed.

“No. The first journey you took owned that name. Now, you have other names. You did not achieve a single task you set for yourself. You are no longer Endititio. Endititio lost his true name on the first failure and became Ditio. And on his second failure, he became Tio. Who will you be now?”

No. He had to remain whole.

“I am Endititio.”

“NO.” The roar wobbled and shook the membrane. “You failed your task. The task you set for yourself. You failed on the subsequent journey. And the next one. This is your last, if you survive beyond the opening of the gates. Name?”

“My name is Io.”

“You understand now, that this is your last chance. If you fail in your task, if you cannot forgive and move forward, if you choose punishment and retribution, you will not come to this place again?”

“Yes.”

“Are you ready?”

“No.”

“What lesson would you take with you this time, in addition to the previous tasks?”

“I want to know how others overcame the need, the compulsion for revenge. Can I ask that?”

“No. Your task is your own. Your journey is of your own choosing. You must demonstrate your understanding of the lesson on your return, or it is a failure and must be undertaken again, in a more severe form, until the lesson is adequately understood. Think on this: how would you expect a student to demonstrate completion of the task you have set?”

“If I find a way to answer that question, will I be granted permission to continue?”

“No. You have failed the same task three times. The rules are clear. If the lesson is not learned from the task – do not forget you chose your own task – the failure sets the seeker back one more step than the step they commenced from. That is where you are. You were on the fourth step. You chose to take on a task that would escalate you by one step more than the next. You chose the rapid ascent module. You failed the first, the second, and the third time. What circumstances would allow a student to continue in the face of continued failure?”

Io cried.

 

It was only in this place, at this moment of being, that there was this memory. At the moment of emergence, all memory was left behind, to be picked up at the end of the task. The life form could not truly be expected to learn if they had all the tools and memories of previous lives to call on. Each task had to be unique to the individual’s needs. Endititio, now Io, had chosen the only task that would extend his upward transition by more than one step. Now, he was on the verge of becoming a non-entity, a pre-entity, an unknown mind. The empty vessel. The hardest road. To have the prospect of living so many lives, so many tasks and lessons again and again and again . . .

That was why they did it, why they wiped the memory after so many failures. So the soul could not be disillusioned when reborn.

Enditio, now Io, outlined his understanding. Detailed how the lesson could never be learned by trying, only by teaching others to undertake the task, to be the student and mentor in the same task, to be the link, the tool that opened minds to the possibility, the potential.

“Io is partway to the level of understanding required to continue the task. He may continue. Open the gates.” The new voice boomed through the space, like a gong underwater.

“He may experience the first breath, the first moment of the new life, before returning to undertake the task again.”

That Cat!

Do Not Disturb

 

Don’t you wish you could do that!

New Things from Old – The Change is Coming

Have you noticed how much time and effort goes into finding all the necessary things for your life after you install new software? I have. Measured it. For each major update (you know, when things look different, are put in different places, are put under new category names – that sort of stuff), account for the loss of one whole day of work! I kid you not – Windows 10 – the one that will make your life so much joy – took fully half a day before I could sit down to do some work. And then what? Everything looked different, felt different, was located in different places. No choice about this, or that, or how, or where – or when. I was one of those people who decided not to upgrade because the first time I tried it (when I had time to work through the issues I knew would come), it FAILED. One chance, blown. Not going to do it again. But lo and behold – while I was having breakfast, my computer was getting the upgrade! Without my knowledge because I had cancelled all the scheduled dates, all the little pop-up boxes had been ‘x-d’ and not acted upon.

There was a sneaky in there. And it updated my computer. So half a day before I could sit down to look at it.

No printer connections. No network connections. No group connections. Go through the whole lot again.

Remove all the junk from the start-up (yes, it is junk, and advertising junk at that!), and find my way around the new neighbourhood. Look in all the places you don’t expect to find things, and there – there’s one, and over here, that’s another one – and put them back where you know your habits will lead you to find it.

It led me to question these things called focus groups (the ones they do when they want to find out how people will accept/use/condemn efforts at change). Do these groups include people over a certain age? People who don’t own a million ***# devices? Anyone over 30? Someone who doesn’t have a laptop? Or a magic tab? Or a phone that is constantly internet connected?

How many people out there would this be? Let me check the numbers for you, please.

Australia: population – just over 24M.

Breakdown by age (median age 37 @ 2014 and rising):

Working age (15-64) 66% (approx 17M)

Under working age: 20% (approx 4.8M)

Over working age: 14% (approx 3.5M)

Within the working age group:

Age Group
% (approx.2014 abs stats)



15-19
6%



20-24
7%
Under 30


25-29
7.5%
20.5%


30-34
7.5%



35-39
7%



40-44
8%



45-49
7.5%



50-54
7.5%



55-59
7%
Over 30


60-64
6%
>50%



71%

See that: over 50% of the market you’re aiming at is over 30.

With the decline in the birth rate, and the increase in products available, as well as the increase in the ‘buy at home’ campaign – if you don’t consider the whole market, you will lose a great deal of market power.

 

These numbers refer to Australia, but the figures (you work them out) are a reflection of the changes within society worldwide. We are more considerate of our planet and the trouble it’s in; we are more concerned about the high population and the necessity for resources that population poses; we are becoming more considerate.

The young market (

But you should consider these things – the changes in how technology is forced into being; how markets push and push for more and more; how children are the biggest spenders (and therefore, marketed to). And you, you, you – all of us – consider where we are going, and who is doing the pushing.

Think about it. Push back. Don’t dream of owning it all because the advertising tells you – Remember Simon & Garfunkel – The Sounds of Silence? That’s where we are now.

Friends Forever

The picture may be old now, and it sat stuck to my workstation for many years, but it is the example of true friendship through thick and thin, through sharing and scrapping, through changing environments, disasters and boredom, illness and loss – this is what makes it so special. The love that lasts forever, has no relationship to race, breed,  creed, hairstyle, or any other little thing – that’s what I think we should all aim for. A true friend, forever.