Global Warming Fun 4: They Taste Like Chicken

by Gary J. Davies

Chapter 9: Fly Fishing

  Walking Stone returned from snow wallowing and the plan was put into motion. Within fifteen minutes Mark was fishing while Ann dozed in the newly located tent. He had brought a spool of fishing line and a few spoon and feather lures that he had used in the past to catch fish and was confident that he would soon have lunch, flies permitting. He wore a light-weight plastic parka that he hoped would at least slightly befuddle fly senses. The loose extra layer of clothing made handling the fishing line by hand almost impossible but the strategy seemed to work with the flies: twice solitary scouting flies buzzed through the area and ignored him as he held perfectly still until Walking Stone told him that the fly was gone.

  Their luck with the flies continued. Most of the flies were perhaps occupied elsewhere, Walking Stone conjectured. But Mark was having no luck with fish. He decided to employ a trick his Grandmother had taught him. With proper telepathic focus the Tribe had long ago found that they could influence the mood of fish towards increased hunger. In fact, according to Tribal legend, this is how and why the Tribe first discovered and developed their telepathic skills. From there the Tribe learned to communicate with other animals and to even detect the quiet thoughts of Stone-Coats when they became active.

  Though in recent hours his head spun with thoughts about how he might best manage the quest given the added responsibilities and complications presented by Ann, Mark now closed his eyes, cleared his mind, and focused totally on his surroundings. There was an inherent activity to all life that could be sensed by a few talented humans. Mark's calm mind was a sensing device that could be tuned to detect such activity, including the primitive thoughts and emotions of others.

  The forest around him was full of life hidden to the eyes; a legion of small creatures that dug deep through the darkness of forest soil, or climbed high through the forest canopy, or flew from tree to tree in an endless ocean of air, all seeking other life on which to feed. Though battered severely by climate change, Green Mountain was still brimming with life.

  Mark identified dozens of rodents and birds and eliminated them from his focus. He sought out still simpler minds that lived in yet another world, a cold world of endless motion and gurgling sound: the world of constantly rushing water. Resting in quiet eddies Mark found the creatures that he sought, trout that had thus far miraculously survived climate change and swam through ice-clogged rivers and streams to summer here in this mountain refuge, following ancient instincts that drove them to swim and eat and spawn despite whatever happened in the world around them.

  Their numbers nearby were fewer than Mark remembered; climate change was steadily taking its toll on everything. He had envisioned stuffing himself silly with delicious trout but now decided to eat as few as possible to get himself through this day. Then perhaps he would eat no more of them. If necessary he and Ann would resort to eating grubs and roots to avoid devastating the small remaining stock of trout here on Green Mountain.

  Tuning his thoughts to those of the fish, he found what he sought: a feeling of hunger that he amplified by using his own hunger. Several fish stirred and more attentively patrolled for tasty aquatic insects and their larvae. They must have been hungrier than he thought, for the feeling of hunger suddenly amplified much further than Mark expected. "HUNGER! HUNGER! HUNGER! FOOD! FOOD! FOOD! HUNGER! HUNGER! HUNGER!" Mark repeated, as he tossed his lure towards a quiet pool in the stream, a favorite fishing hole of his since he was too young to talk.

  Before he saw the lure even reach the water there was a sudden warning shout from Walking Stone and a buzzing noise, followed by an insistent pulling on his fishing line. He had a strike and it felt like a big one! But he was using twenty-pound line that was tied to a sturdy stick that he firmly held in one hand, so unless the hook tore free at the fish end he for sure had lunch! The pull was towards the water but then unexpectedly the pull came from above and then behind him. Where the hell was the fish? And the buzzing sound was louder than ever; where was the fly he was hearing?

  It took a few more moments for it to register in Mark's confused mind that a giant fly and not a fish had taken his lure and was struggling to free itself twenty feet above his head!

  "Kill it quickly and hide it or it will bring others!" warned Ann from the tent opening where she watched.

  Walking Stone shot off a fly wing with a well-placed ice projectile and Mark cut off the creature's head with his hatchet after it hit the ground. After prying the fishing lure from its mouth he tossed all the oozing remains into a plastic garbage bag and climbed into the tent with it to hide it from detection by other hungry flies.

  "I didn't realize that you were fly-fishing," Ann said. "Congratulations."

  "My fishing didn't go quite as planned," Mark noted, as Ann laughed. "I have a sack of fly instead of a sack of fish."

  "Well I got some great video out of it. The look of shock and befuddlement on your face was priceless when you snagged that ugly thing!"

  "You videoed me fishing?"

  "Sure, I video record almost everything. You never know when you'll capture something that you can use."

  "I don't remember signing up to be in a news story," said Mark.

  "You aren't in one yet; don't worry. But would that really be a problem? Most people like being in news stories."

  "I don't know why," said Mark.

  "Maybe they just want to be famous."

  "Why would anyone want that?"

  "So that they feel good about themselves. So they feel that their life makes a difference."

  "I don't see how that has anything to do with being famous."

  Ann had to think about that for a minute before replying. "Maybe for some people it does; I guess for you it doesn't. I hope you weren't figuring on cleaning and cooking that thing here in my tent."

  "The fly? I hadn't figured what to do with it. Maybe it would make good fish bait."

  "No, you're going to eat it, right?" asked Ann. "I've heard of people eating them before. Waste-not, want-not, as the saying goes."

  "They also say you are what you eat, but you're right; I'll have to give it a try I suppose. For the Tribe killing anything is serious and should have meaning."

  "Cook it well done," advised Ann. "Those things can carry very nasty pathogens. I did a story on that once."

  "Yes, I remember that story," said Mark. "It was a nicely condensed version of a more detailed Scientific American article."

  After an 'all clear' indication from Walking Stone Mark moved the fly out of the tent and butchered it. He had butchered game animals before, but what fly parts were suitable as people food Mark could only guess at. The dead fly stank and butchering it was a disgusting experience but he was very, very hungry. He focused on the thorax: the middle section of the fly that contained leg and wing muscle. The thicker leg sections also looked promising. There was a tough outside carapace and hair to deal with, but that was no match for his hunting knife and hunger-driven determination. He soon carved away two pounds of what vaguely looked like meat plus several leg sections. The remaining fly parts he tossed into the stream, where he wasn't surprised to see trout eat them. He was surprised to see that there were hundreds of trout, more than he had ever seen before. What had drawn them? "Well that figures," he muttered. "Always happens once you've stopped fishing."

  "That fly exhibited unusual behavior," noted Walking Stone. "It dove straight towards you when it appeared, instead of buzzing around and cautiously spiraling towards the camp as if it saw or otherwise sensed something interesting. There was little time for a warning."

  "The lure must have really attracted it strongly," reasoned Mark. He retrieved his pan from his backpack and fried a thick fillet of fly, along with some leg segments, with Walking Stone supplying the heat. The Stone-Coat held the sizzling pan in one of his huge hands and stirred the sizzling fly pieces with a diamond claw of his other hand. Ann moved to sit just outside the tent in order to better observe and record events.

  "Perhaps," said Wa
lking Stone. "The issue requires further data for resolution."

  "It smells pretty good," Mark noted. "Maybe I won't starve after all."

  "How is that pan being heated?" Ann asked.

  "By Stone-Coat. A campfire would have been more readily detected by the flies," Mark noted.

  "Electrical resistance is experienced in selected circuits of my hand," explained Walking Stone. "It's actually a very simple phenomenon. Mark prefers this to microwave cooking, though I could also provide that, and with greater speed and efficiency."

  "You Stone-Coats are certainly amazing!" Ann noted. "Are you going to eat some of the fly also, Walking Stone?"

  "I will consume what Mark leaves as waste but not segments that would provide food for him," replied the Stone-Coat. "I will absorb waste to help avoid detection by other flies. Currently I am not in need of any substances."

  "I hadn't noticed you eat anything at all," Ann noted. "That seems strange for such a big creature."

  "I take on ice periodically; nothing else is needed," explained Walking Stone.

  "Stone-Coats are mostly powered by nuclear decay, if that's what you wanted to know, though they also absorb solar energy," said Mark. "They can and do consume almost anything to get the substances they need, especially trees for their carbon, but they don't really consume food for energy like we warm living things do. They can actually go for millions of years without eating, as long as they have a trickle of electricity based on nuclear decay."

  "That sounds handy," Ann muttered. She was confused. She had never heard of anything like this!

  "The Prime Directive," Walking Stone reminded Mark.

  Mark abruptly stopped explaining Stone-Coats to the outsider. "This meat is very well cooked," he noted. He speared a small bit of it on the tip of his knife and after blowing on it to cool it he bit into it. "Oh wow!" he muttered with his mouth full, "it's fantastic, once you get past the 'yuck' factor!"

  "Let me try a bite!" Ann requested. "Why it tastes like chicken!" she soon exclaimed. "Like dark meat; and that's my favorite! It's very good! Please pass me a leg."

  The rest of the fly meat was soon cooked and consumed by the hungry pair. The armor-clad legs reminded Ann of snow crab legs, but the meat was more chicken-like in taste.

  While Ann hobbled out of sight for another nature call and Mark cleaned cooking utensils in the stream Walking Stone startled Mark with a question. "Are you going to soon mate with Ann?" he asked point blank.

  "What? Of course not! Why would you ask such a question?"

  "You are adults of opposite sex and of suitable ages to reproduce," noted the Stone-Coat.

  "I suppose that's true, but we've just met today and she's about twice my age."

  "Is age parity a priority?"

  "I don't know," Mark admitted.

  "Your father is many years older than your mother."

  "Why are we even talking about this?" Mark asked.

  "Human reproduction is a topic of our research," Walking Stone noted, "and it has also been noted in the Tribe caves that humans often engage in sex even when reproduction is not sought. The entire sex issue appears to radically motivate and distort human behavior and culture."

  "I guess, but I think we'll both get sex education this year in school," Mark noted. "That should provide an optimal opportunity for your research on this topic. I suggest that you save such questions until then." He had never thought of it before, but when he eventually did have sex, did Walking Stone intend to observe? No way!

  "Affirmative," agreed Walking Stone, just as Ann lurched into view on her crutches and returned to hide in the tent.

  "These wooden crutches that you guys made for me are perfect," she noted. "Did you carve them with your hunting knife while I napped, Mark?"

  "No, Walking Stone carved them using his teeth while he wallowed in snow. He is very talented."

  "I used designs obtained from the human internet," Walking Stone added.

  "You have internet access?"

  "Usually they do; they plug themselves right into it," said Mark.

  "But not while on this quest," added Walking Stone. "I am isolated from the other Stone-Coats and from their internet. I downloaded several gigs of medical related information during the weeks prior to the quest in anticipation of their possible usefulness."

  "You certainly know a lot about many human things, Walking Stone," Ann noted. "Are you an adult Stone-Coat? I've seen much bigger Stone-Coats than you."

  "This entity is obviously a fully functioning autonomous unit," Walking Stone stated. "The term 'adult' does not meaningfully apply to Stone-Coats."

  "They don't have kids or adults or sex or mates like people do," Mark explained. "Most of the Stone-Coats aren't even in the form of mobile units. They only form mobile units when those are needed. This one was designed to be as small as possible to be able to follow me around, but he's mostly the same as any other mobile Stone-Coat. You said that you've seen others? Bigger units?"

  "A few." Indeed she had been taking videos of them for weeks all over the northern ice fields of New York. Gradually she figured out where they were coming from: Giants' Rest Mountain, just across the valley from Green Mountain.

  "Did somebody build the Stone-Coats?" Ann asked Walking Stone. "A scientist maybe? Mark said something about his Dad designing ears."

  "Our basic patterns for life evolved long before soft carbon forms such as humans matured into sentient entities," said Walking Stone, "but the process was conceptually similar and there are many apt analogies between Stone-Coat biology and evolution and human biology and evolution. For example warm life forms have genes; Stone-Coats have digital designs that they exchange."

  "Evolution built them many millions of years ago, similar to how evolution built us," said Mark, "only using different materials. My Dad calls them living computers, but that's not quite right either."

  "Human computers are computationally fast but very primitive in most respects," said the Stone-Coat.

  "And how old are you, Walking Stone?" Ann asked.

  "This unit contains basic constructs that are approximately four-hundred million years old, but most of this particular mobile unit was formed from granite less than a million years ago," Walking Stone stated. "We are a relatively young Stone-Coat enclave. Most other enclaves in Europe and elsewhere are far older."

  Ann sat quietly for a long time, absolutely dumbstruck, as she tried to digest what she had been told. This wasn't just a story; it was the biggest story imaginable! A sentient life form had evolved on Earth long before humans! This was even crazier than smart ants!

  She had done a story once about how some scientists feared a pending moment in history they called the Singularity, when machines would reach a state of self-aware sentience. Ironically, rock based life had apparently reached that point long before humans.

  This was an absolutely huge story: a story of a lifetime; just what she needed to catapult her career from this dying frozen region of the country and trivial news stories to national news and big stories. She hated doing little stories in Albany while the world at large was so obviously going to shit.

  Somehow she had to get this story off this Mountain and out to the world! But first she had to understand it better, and for the first time in her life she feared that she had encountered a story that was so big that she might be incapable of competently piecing it together. But she had too! She wasn't the sort of reporter that simply drew attention to things that were interesting; she was the sort of reporter that studied and understood what she reported on.

  Raw information was not enough, even when it was incredibly sensational. In fact, the more sensational a story was, the more it tended to require research. That's why she had held off for weeks on reporting about sightings of Ice Giants in this area. She had amassed hours of videos and hundreds of photos and eye-witness reports, but what she wanted was the full story. She had to find out what they were and what they were doing and why!

  "
The jants report that your leg is healing very fast," Mark said, interrupting Ann's thoughts.

  "It hardly hurts at all anymore."

  "But they also report that you are very troubled by something."

  "They do? Are they reading my mind?"

  "Yes and no," Mark explained. "Through the tick they focus mostly on the portions of your mind that control pain and healing. They could of course read your conscious thoughts as well, but usually don't bother to."

  "And what about you? Can you read my thoughts, Mark?"

  "No, for two reasons. First it would be inappropriate and impolite. Second, you are hopelessly inept telepathically."

  "I am?"

  "Most humans are."

  "I suppose that in your Tribe's society that would make me a total loser."

  "Not really. My Grandfather is a great Chief and Tribe hero yet his telepathic abilities are even weaker than yours. For him it is a strength. Wise people make the best use of whatever they have or whatever they don't have."

  "You seem to be pretty wise for a kid. How old are you anyway?"

  "Past thirteen."

  "Wow! You're going to be really something when you're fully grown!"

  "Maybe, but only if I live that long," said Mark. "The flies seek to prevent that. I, on the other hand, after a nap hope to catch another fly for dinner. Or a fish. Whichever I catch first will be dinner. I need a rest period first, though. I've had a tiring time and all that fly meat I ate is really weighing me down. Also we need to make some plans."

  Mark crawled into the tent and under the reflective poncho with Ann. They weren't touching, but Mark was immediately so aware of her that he was very uncomfortable. For one thing it was uncomfortably warm: it was at least eighty degrees in the tent under the poncho. For another thing Ann was a very beautiful woman. He was thankful that she wasn't telepathic, for some embarrassing thoughts had crossed his mind.

  "So, quest planner, do we stay here or make a run for it?" Ann asked. "What do you think?"

  "I need the stream for yummy fish," said Mark, "but I doubt we'll be able to stay here for the whole two weeks. We've been lucky so far with the flies, but it can't last. So I say the hell with the fish; we need better shelter. Then in two weeks we'll have to haul you to Giant's Rest Mountain. You'll be more mobile by then but probably not mobile enough for a challenging hike across the ice sheet. We'll have to make a sled that Walking Stone can use to pull you over the ice to Giants' Rest in one night."

  "Wait a minute! Why will that be necessary? Won't your quest simply end in two weeks? Can't we then simply send up smoke signals in two weeks that will bring your Tribe rescue helicopter to us?"

  "No, two weeks is just a minimum time limit," explained Mark. "The quest won't be over until Walking Stone and I both return to Giants' Rest under our own power. Until then any signals from anywhere near here will be ignored."

  "Your quest rules seem to be designed to F-us up but good!" Ann remarked.

  "Sure seems like it," agreed Mark. "But they are what they are. For now we should get some sleep. I know of some caves nearby that should provide better protection from the flies. We'll move ourselves there tonight. Walking Stone can easily carry you that far."

  "What about your yummy fish?" Ann asked.

  "Over-rated," Mark declared. "We'll eat flies. They taste like chicken."

  "Yummy flies."

  "Do you like big dogs?" Mark asked.

  "Sure, I guess so. What's not to like?"

  "Good," said Ed. "The cave is a wolf den."

  "You've been talking about wolves but there haven't been wolves in New York for hundreds of years," Ann insisted. "I did a story on that once."

  Mark laughed. "I guess these wolves missed that story."

  ****