cylinder
slowly, shaking his head. He was unmanned. He could no more defeat this thing
than an infant child could best his father. He was so little threat to it that
it would hand him a weapon with total unconcern. He felt the urge to drive the
knife into his own chest and end this humiliation, but he pushed the thoughts
away before the sahael could exact its punishment.
He sharpened a small stick using
the alien knife, impaled the small bodies upon it, and held the raw meat over
the flame. In the beginning, he kept the gordita and the grasshoppers
far enough back that the cooking went slowly, but as the scent of grease and
cooked meat woke his own belly, he let the branch dip.
The thin, stringy meat tasted
better than Ramon had remembered - salty and a rich, earthy taste. When he had
stripped the small corpses to their thin yellow bones, he wiped his hands on his
robe and stood up.
‘Let’s go. I have to find fresh
water.’
‘The seared flesh is not
sufficient?’
Ramon spat.
‘I can live for weeks without
food,’ he said. ‘No water, and I’ll die in days.’
It rose and let Ramon lead the
way through the forest to a cold rushing stream, foaming white as it broke over
streambed rocks. This far north, the glaciers fed the streams and eventually
the great river, the Rio Embudo, that passed through Fiddler’s Jump. As he
squatted, cupping the numbing cold water to his lips, he imagined setting a
message in a bottle to bob its way down to civilization. Trapped by
monsters! Send help! He might as well plan to make a flock of flapjacks fly
him back to Diegotown. Dreaming was no better than dreaming.
He wiped his mouth with the back
of his hand and sat back.
‘This is all then?’ Maneck said. ‘Consume
dead flesh and water. Emit piss. These are the channels that constrain the man?’
‘Well, he’ll have to take a dump
sometimes. Like pissing, sort of. And he’ll sleep.’
‘You will do these things,’
Maneck said.
Ramon stood, turning back toward
the camp and the flying box. The alien followed him.
‘You can’t just command those
things,’ Ramon said. ‘It’s not like I’m some kind of pinche machine that
you can press a button and I fall asleep. Things come in their own time.’
‘And the dumping?’
Ramon felt a surge of rage. The
thing was an idiot; he was enslaved by a race of morons.
‘It comes in its own time too,’
Ramon said.
‘Then we will observe the time,’
Maneck said.
‘Fine.’
‘While we observe, you will
explain free.’
Ramon paused, looking back over
his shoulder. Light dappled the alien’s swirling skin, an effect like camouflage.
‘You will kill to be free,’
Maneck said. ‘What is free?’
‘Free is not with a fucking thing
sticking into my neck,’ Ramon said. ‘Free is able to do what I want when I want
without having to dance to anyone’s fucking tune.’
‘Is this dance customary?’
‘Christ!’ Ramon yelled, wheeling
on his captor. ‘Free is being your own goddamn man! Free is not answering to
anybody for anything! Not your boss, not your woman, not the pinche governor
and his pinche little army! A man who’s free makes his own path where he
wants to make it, and no one can stand in the way. No one! Are you too fucking
stupid to understand that?’
Ramon was breathing hard as if he’d
been running, his cheeks hot with blood. The hot orange eyes shifted over him.
The sahael pulsed once, and a shudder of fear ran through Ramon - the
presentiment of pain that never came.
‘Free is to be without
constraint?’
‘Yes,’ Ramon said, mincing the
words as if he were speaking to a child he disliked. ‘Free is to be without
constraint.’
‘And this is possible?’ it asked.
Thoughts and memories flickered
through Ramon’s mind. Elena. The times he’d had to scrape by without liquor in
order to make the payment on his van.
slowly, shaking his head. He was unmanned. He could no more defeat this thing
than an infant child could best his father. He was so little threat to it that
it would hand him a weapon with total unconcern. He felt the urge to drive the
knife into his own chest and end this humiliation, but he pushed the thoughts
away before the sahael could exact its punishment.
He sharpened a small stick using
the alien knife, impaled the small bodies upon it, and held the raw meat over
the flame. In the beginning, he kept the gordita and the grasshoppers
far enough back that the cooking went slowly, but as the scent of grease and
cooked meat woke his own belly, he let the branch dip.
The thin, stringy meat tasted
better than Ramon had remembered - salty and a rich, earthy taste. When he had
stripped the small corpses to their thin yellow bones, he wiped his hands on his
robe and stood up.
‘Let’s go. I have to find fresh
water.’
‘The seared flesh is not
sufficient?’
Ramon spat.
‘I can live for weeks without
food,’ he said. ‘No water, and I’ll die in days.’
It rose and let Ramon lead the
way through the forest to a cold rushing stream, foaming white as it broke over
streambed rocks. This far north, the glaciers fed the streams and eventually
the great river, the Rio Embudo, that passed through Fiddler’s Jump. As he
squatted, cupping the numbing cold water to his lips, he imagined setting a
message in a bottle to bob its way down to civilization. Trapped by
monsters! Send help! He might as well plan to make a flock of flapjacks fly
him back to Diegotown. Dreaming was no better than dreaming.
He wiped his mouth with the back
of his hand and sat back.
‘This is all then?’ Maneck said. ‘Consume
dead flesh and water. Emit piss. These are the channels that constrain the man?’
‘Well, he’ll have to take a dump
sometimes. Like pissing, sort of. And he’ll sleep.’
‘You will do these things,’
Maneck said.
Ramon stood, turning back toward
the camp and the flying box. The alien followed him.
‘You can’t just command those
things,’ Ramon said. ‘It’s not like I’m some kind of pinche machine that
you can press a button and I fall asleep. Things come in their own time.’
‘And the dumping?’
Ramon felt a surge of rage. The
thing was an idiot; he was enslaved by a race of morons.
‘It comes in its own time too,’
Ramon said.
‘Then we will observe the time,’
Maneck said.
‘Fine.’
‘While we observe, you will
explain free.’
Ramon paused, looking back over
his shoulder. Light dappled the alien’s swirling skin, an effect like camouflage.
‘You will kill to be free,’
Maneck said. ‘What is free?’
‘Free is not with a fucking thing
sticking into my neck,’ Ramon said. ‘Free is able to do what I want when I want
without having to dance to anyone’s fucking tune.’
‘Is this dance customary?’
‘Christ!’ Ramon yelled, wheeling
on his captor. ‘Free is being your own goddamn man! Free is not answering to
anybody for anything! Not your boss, not your woman, not the pinche governor
and his pinche little army! A man who’s free makes his own path where he
wants to make it, and no one can stand in the way. No one! Are you too fucking
stupid to understand that?’
Ramon was breathing hard as if he’d
been running, his cheeks hot with blood. The hot orange eyes shifted over him.
The sahael pulsed once, and a shudder of fear ran through Ramon - the
presentiment of pain that never came.
‘Free is to be without
constraint?’
‘Yes,’ Ramon said, mincing the
words as if he were speaking to a child he disliked. ‘Free is to be without
constraint.’
‘And this is possible?’ it asked.
Thoughts and memories flickered
through Ramon’s mind. Elena. The times he’d had to scrape by without liquor in
order to make the payment on his van.
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