The Man Who Talked to Suns

by Stephen Andrews

  The Praveen watched the predator as it jerked through stems. It did not move closer, but neither did it move away. By now the mounts had finally reached the sanctuary of the boulder but they were not focussed on the predator in front, they hissed and spat simultaneously off to the left. His companion pointed the infra-sonic sensor in the direction of the mounts’ threats and was rewarded with not one but two confirming squeaks. There were more predators camouflaged by the veldt, and they were closer. He rumbled a warning to his comrades, and received a confirming threat-fear-disbelief reply. The Praveen shifted formation slightly, moving instinctively from a line to a circle. The companion swept the sensor around and picked up a range of squeaks and pops. None were a strong as the two contacts made moments before, but some were ambiguous enough to be of concern.

  A discussion followed on the likely number of predators and their intent. Were they returning from a night hunt to find their favourite basking spot occupied, or perhaps still hungry and eager to feast? How many were there usually in a pack? What would they do if threatened, flee or fight? The fact that they had approached from different directions indicated malevolent intent. They usually travelled in single file through the thick stems, and only adopted different tactics when opportunity of threat demanded it. The Praveen companions realised they were largely ignorant of the behaviour of the creatures around them, and now that tranquility had turned to fear in a matter of moments, each of them wished to go back in time so they could do more research before leaving.

  The discussion turned to what to do. Take the initiative one said, we have weapons. If we kill one the others will flee in fear. Others objected. The predators had not attacked, and the Praveen may well be the transgressors here, and besides their mounts were also fearsome if provoked. The hunters in the veldt must surely know the threat to their own lives. So let’s mount up he suggested. We are safer on our mounts. That met objection too. What if they bolt, and their footing on rock is not sure. Do you really want to venture into the vegetation? He did not, not even mounted. And so they stayed in a circle pointing weapons outward, listening to their mounts challenge the predators, and their own occasional reflexive fear keening. They did not fight, they did not flee, they did what many species did when confronted with a new and confusing threat; they froze.

  The predators did not. They were closing, and more had made their presence known, rustling movement in the stems made apparent by the growing morning light. The veldt seemed suddenly alive with creatures. They took on a sinister supernatural aspect, revealing themselves through the parting tracks and the snapping of vegetation. None of the Praveen group had caught more than a fleeting glimpse of an actual animal. The predators moved in short, fast bursts, then froze. They were either blurred by movement or camouflaged by the stem-sea. It was hard to keep track of any single individual. Movement would catch the eye for a moment, focussing attention on one animal, but when it stopped it was hard to keep an eye fixed on its location in the swaying stems. Then another would suddenly move and the eye would track the second, losing sight of the first. There were clearly many more than the three identified but it was impossible to tell how many, and difficult to work out the direction of movement. What was very clear was that the predators did not mean to move away.

  Panic was slowly rising amongst the Praveen as the gravity of their situation became clear. What had started as a quaint, boisterous adventure, had become a life and death struggle. They had known that they might encounter hunters, and they had armed themselves, but secretly none believed they would meet any true threat, after all, when was the last time anyone was killed in the veldt? Being eaten alive seemed like such an old fashioned fear. Now they began to rue their lack of preparation. Yes, they were armed but the targets were fast, elusive and numerous. Two of the group had never fired a weapon at more than a static target, and they had done so just before leaving. The group sensed they could be overwhelmed, and still had no plan. Discussion was faltering and turning to recrimination.

  He offered a joke to calm spirits, but it was met with silence from two and a low fool-blame-panic response from a third. He felt the emotional burn of that disapproval, swiftly followed by a sense of injustice. Did his fellows blame him for this? True it had been his idea, but they had been enthusiastic partners, cajoling and persuading a vague idea into a real adventure. They too had revelled in the disapproval of superiors and warnings of tutors. They too had made excited preparation and sought out old fashioned equipment in musty trade rings. This was not his fault.

  Emotions churned in him with the uncertain intensity of his pre-sexual age. The struggle to untangle them was actually a welcome diversion from the intense point of fear that had dominated his emotional landscape. But the fear returned instantly when sudden blurred movement caught his eye. He had thought it a predator making its way onto their rock redoubt, but as he turned to look fully, his ears heard the scrabble of talons on rock and a high, whining sound. He saw the mounts acting even as their riders stood motionless with fear. They moved as a pack, heads low and forearms readied to strike, skating on the rock as they charged into the veldt. Instinct had overcome training; the mounts knew how to respond to this threat, they had met the challenge of these predators for millennium and survived. Now they moved as one to protect their masters and assert their mastery of the veldt in an ancient response that was locked deep in their genes.

  One his companions belched out a shocked rumble and narrowly avoided being hit by a mount as it launched itself forward. The other mounts were behind it and, shockingly, engaged a predator right at the base of the rock. None of the Praveen had seen it. The stop-move tactics of the hunters had worked beautifully to confuse and divert attention, allowing one their number to move within striking distance. The vegetation below erupted in a tangle of striking, biting and hissing. The mounts had the better of a single predator and its calls quickly turned from aggression to fear. The stench of its innards being exposed to air reached the noses of the Praveen and a companion wretched. One raised a weapon but could not distinguish mounts from predator. The fight below was furious and obscured by the veldt. Even this close the stems were deep enough and thick enough to hide most of the large animals, but the hisses and spits of the mounts dominated. They were winning.

  The predator knew it was lost, its world was now one of fear and pain feelings it had unknowingly inflicted on its prey over years of hunting. It was incapable of empathy, but supremely capable of self-preservation. It emitted desperate calls, urging its companions to act and aid it. Come to me and preserve the pack, it wailed. Its urgings were received by the others of its kind, and they responded. Lines like the tracks of something moving just below the surface of water appeared in the veldt, as hunters homed directly on the cries of their besieged kin. Random stop-start motion ceased and they moved fast and aggressive, directly towards the fight.

  He muttered an oath as he watched. There were dozens of these things and he felt a reflexive fear keen grow from inside. He also noticed that his facial muscles were taught. A companion was at the edge of hysteria now the true number and speed of the creatures they confronted was apparent. He was screeching an order to fire. Marksmanship was not needed, there were so many targets. Firing now would surely hit something. He raised his weapon and started launching bolts into the veldt. He had no idea how many creatures he was hitting, if any. At least firing made him feel better.

  Other hunters were close and they joined the fight quickly. For a short while the mounts prevailed but as other hunters made contact they began to be overwhelmed. Noise filled the air; animal shrieks and hisses overlaid with the bass rumbles of the Praveen met the whiplash crack of weapons being released. An area of veldt vegetation was being smashed into pulp by the fighting beasts, revealing the full aggression and speed of their fight. Both predator and mount were fearsome. Their fighting power awed the watching Praveen, and in the first rays of light they began to see the predators. The long, vertically flattened and segmented
bodies, multiple legs and long striking proboscis confirmed their worst fears. These were alpha hunters, the veldt’s top predators. One alone was dangerous, but this enraged pack was deadly.

  The sun rose on a scene of violence and desperation. The first rays of morning light touched the rocks and they seemed to glow from within just as the aesthete-ecolgists that placed them had intended. Reds and golds once again contrasted with the emerald green of the vegetation around. Seen from high above, at the edge of atmosphere where ships come and go, the rocks were glowing dots that formed intricate sweeping lines across great tracts of the veldt. They looked like a planetary tattoo. Clearly sentient minds had intervened in this landscape, and many viewers made the mistake of thinking it had therefore been tamed.

  In fact the objective of those intervening was to add beauty and enhance wildness. It was funny to do both, to make a landscape more attractive and more dangerous. The architects of this space had achieved both admirably. Those who became lost in its beauty without understanding its savagery were not only artistically bereft, but very likely to be short lived. It was a joke the cognoscenti understood well, and others were encouraged to appreciate. The sun of course had no need to comprehend any of this. It warmed those in danger as surely as it warmed those at peace. It cast its light on the veldt and unknowingly beautified a scene of carnage with the soft morning tones.

  He watched as death came to a mount. It was tangled with a hunter, prising plates away from flesh and striking talons deep inside. It was winning the fight when another hunter launched itself from the stems. Its long thin body emerged like a giant sword thrust from the unbroken vegetation at the perimeter of the fight. A sharp proboscis emerged from within and skewered the mount. The lance penetrated the mount completely, carried by the momentum of the hunter’s attack. The proboscis emerged on the other side of the stricken mount and in a gruesome moment of predatory revelation, spikes opened out on the far side like petals opening on a flower. The mount was now riveted to its captor which used multiple rings of overlapping incisors to bite a massive chunk of flesh from the wailing, kicking mount. So caught, the mount’s resistance ended and noise and life drained from it.

  He saw this and was sickened. Dread filled him. This was the death that awaited him, appalling in its certainty and gruesome efficiency. He saw his companions watching with equal horror, one firing bolts into the writhing mass of animals, hitting predators and mounts alike. His companion no longer cared whether friend or foe was falling because he believed they were all moments away from death. It may be better to fall quickly at the hand of a friend than to be impaled and eaten alive by a predator. It seemed that his companion was performing one last act of care for the mounts while he was still able. He was not sure if he admired the generosity of the act or was repulsed by its hopelessness. And then a thought struck him; they were all watching the fight. The defensive circle was broken, and their backs were exposed. Survival instinct filled him and he whirled in time to see the staccato thrust of predators moving up the rock behind.

  He thought he had found the limits of fear, but he had not. He legs buckled and limbs shook, he smelt his own fear and heard his keening rise like a youngster’s. He no longer sensed his companions, his entire sensory array focussed on the life threatening predatory mass he confronted. Rational thought had no part to play in his actions now, instinct took over. Despite the odds and the calculation that death was inevitable, instinct told him to survive and preserve his genes. He felt the weapon jerk as he released its bolts, and saw one predator’s wicked face dissolve into a pulp of flesh and broken plates as his weapon hit. He continued firing unthinkingly at the same target, round after round smashing it, uncaring that the over-kill was now serving no purpose, and simply revelling in the illusion of power and control the attack brought; enjoying the death of a foe that had caused him so much fear. He fired until a fuel monitor flicked open and the weapon stopped functioning. It was drained of ammunition.

  Ammunition. He had not thought to stock up before the predators closed in. There was ample in the pouches secured to his mount, but those pouches were now at the centre of a writhing mass of feasting predators. He faced his the hunters unarmed. In one last act of desperation he threw his weapon at a remaining predator. It barely flinched as the weapon bounced off its armoured carapace. Others had their maws open revealing the arrays of teeth and the tips of hunting probosci nestled in moist white flesh. His thoughts turned to the grief his family would feel at his death and the unfulfilled ambitions of his life. He waited, expecting nothing but awful death brought by the imminent attack of these veldt dwelling horrors.

  But they did not move. Incredibly, the predators held fast and looked away and up. He watched, frozen by uncomprehending terror. One raised the front third of its segmented body, and gnashed its teeth at the sky before dropping to the ground again and twisting itself slightly, a ripple along the length of its body. The others imitated the gesture, and to his disbelief, they started edging backwards. For the second time that morning he wished he understood more of the behaviour of these creatures. To his untrained eyes this looked like fear; animal bravado in the face of something more powerful. But these creatures in these numbers need fear nothing here. Had his killing of their kin persuaded them that he was something to be reckoned with? He doubted it, doubted that they had that much reasoning power, or that retreat was a survival trait of these beasts.

  Then he too felt something new. The rock on which he stood was vibrating, tiny loose stones were dancing erratically, and vibrations were numbing his feet. Curiosity rose alongside fear, and he was tempted to look around for the source of this new event, but he dared not look away from the predators which faced him. They were clearly awed by something. Each had closed its mouth slowly and held its body close to the ground, shrinking back towards the veldt as if in fear or submission. The cacophony of hunter and hunted fighting for life was stilling, subdued by the same strong, vibrating thrum that jostled his eyes in their sockets. It penetrated mind and soul, stilled all instincts and consumed the senses. He barely heard an urgent forced communication from a companion. It was difficult to make out the meaning above the noise and internal commotion. He could not focus properly, but the sound was repeated and he made it out. It was a simple command with urgent inflection and a hint of parody. It was designed to secure compliance, and it communicated one simple action.

  “Duck now!”

  He hesitated. The command did not make sense, and yet something was clearly very different. He began lowering himself, still keeping his focus on the cowed predators to his front. He reached a cautious kneeling pose just as a gust of wind hit him with the power of a hurricane. It completed with force what he had started with care, flattening him against the rock without heed to his sensitivities and with all the violence and urgency implied by his companion’s command. Wind lashed him, and he felt the prick of small stones caught in the massive movement of atmosphere as they were hurled at him by the vortex. His clothes and equipment whipped against him stinging his flesh and trying to tear themselves from him. The power of the atmosphere threatened to lift him from the rock and he fought to flatten himself so the wind could not pass under him and gain purchase.

  In the same instant the sky turned dark again, and he felt the air pressure increase. Pain filled his internal ear drums and they made popping sounds as pressure inside his skull balanced too quickly with that outside. A trickle of blood seeped out of his nose; a vessel carrying body fluid had ruptured under the atmospheric assault. He felt crushed and lifted at the same time, and breathing came in laboured gasps. The vibrations jarred his teeth in their sockets. He fought desperately to avoid being lifted from the rock, digging nails into any crevasse that offered hope. A part of his mind still worried about the predators, but most was now occupied with a more pressing act of survival, and surely the blast that threatened to sweep him away had diverted the attention of the predators too. They could not hope to hunt in such a maelstrom, cou
ld they?

  Something massive and fast moving roared overhead. His eyes were shut tight against the dust and detritus thrown into the air, but his other senses felt the huge presence as it hurtled above with a thunderous range of acoustic interference. It exuded power and asserted its existence more firmly than anything he had ever encountered. This object was utterly determined to be in this place at this time and move in this way. Nothing would stop it or divert it from its course. It ran just above the ground as something this massive should not; things this big belonged in space or firmly anchored to terrain. Its passing smashed atmosphere out of the way and shook the ground. It was like nothing he or his companions had ever encountered. It was like nothing any denizen of the veldt had ever faced.

  And then it was gone. In its wake atmosphere rushed to fill the gap left by its passing and wind came from a new direction. He was unprepared for the shift and it rolled him like a stone until he stretched out limbs to stop the movement, fearful of being spilled into the threatening stems. As the wind abated, he dared to open his eyes and look around. The scene was one of windswept mayhem; the air full of small pieces of vegetation and dead flying creatures for as far as he could see. The arial flotsam drifted like ash from a fire and began to fall; a rain of leaves, stems, small bodies, and even stones. He gathered his wits, protected his head with limbs and looked around. His companions were scattered and alive, each raising himself in tattered and torn clothes, one bleeding profusely. The predators were gone, vanished back into the veldt and fled from the giant presence that had seared their world with sound and wind-blown fright.