Chapter 1 - The Fragility Of The Future

HOWLING AT THE moon seemed such a fruitless activity but any creature capable of making such a splendid sound felt duty bound to give the great glowing orb in the sky a good send off.

In the land of Yotun the very glimpse of Serenity and its cratered face above the wild landscape set off whole packs of creatures screaming at the sky, sometimes in unison, sometimes in a series of individual efforts that sounded through the darkness like ghouls seeking prey.

"Quite a little concert we got going there tonight," one veteran hunter said as he tossed the last of his tea onto the fire where it hissed and bubbled a moment.

Around him on the cliff ledge, the fringe of shadowed trees was filled with beasts baying at the moon. His younger companion seemed a little ill at ease, for some of the eerie sounds were rather closer than he liked. Reaching for a weapon, he surveyed the darkness in search of telltale glows from watching eyes.

"Relax Matchbie, this is a defensible position," his older colleague assured the other. "Besides, those aren't hunting sounds, just mindless beasts venting at prey beyond their reach."

"You reckon Keepert that's why they howl like that? Frustration?"

"More than likely."

The man spat on the fire. He seemed to enjoy making it hiss like a Drang Swamp snake. Having skinned a few of those in his time, the thought seemed somehow satisfying.

Fire.

It was the thing these Yotun creatures feared the most. More than a hunter and his weapons. More than local regulators and their sterilising darts. More than the moon above.

It was something to do with their primeval nature he reckoned. Legends told of great fires in the early days of the world and race memory had instilled that fear deep in their animal brains. Hunters though overcame such fears, intelligent predators equipped to be masterful.

"We got the measure of these beasts," he added. "I've been traipsing these trails here in the Lost Plateau for more years than I can remember. Ain't a bear, wolf, lion or squirrel can match me one on one, because I know what makes them quail, what makes them critters bow down to a superior mind."

"What's that then Keepert?" the younger hunter said, showing a traditional respect for an old man rambling about glory days gone by. As he asked his question he also threw the remains of his tea onto the fire. As it was the most horrendous beverage he had ever tasted he had drunk little of it so an almost full mug was sloshed over the burning wood.

The effect was instant.

The fire went out in a shriek of steam, the comforting red glow disappeared and the darkness suddenly collapsed upon the two men sat on the cliff ledge. At the same moment all the howling around them ceased.

"Bugger," Keepert breathed and tried in the blackness to remember where he had put his rifle, his flame-sparker, dry kindling and a whole lot of other things. For in the untamed and untameable wilds of Yotun prey only existed so for a matter of seconds, and then it became food.

At such times as these the doom of a world could itself become very personal, especially when one were witness to a miracle that heralded the end of all things. It was while the two hunters scrabbled around on the rock ledge in search of survival that a new glow appeared in the land, or rather above it.

Fire.

The light of Serenity was not enough to disperse the darkness, but this moving orange flame certainly could.

"By all the hairless beards of the Faceless, what is that?" a gruff voice sounded near Matchbie's ear as everything took on an eerie appearance. He turned and looked up.

"Fire," the younger man croaked. "From the sky."

"Bloody useful that," Keepert agreed for other eyes watched the ball of flame as it descended from on high, the eyes of encircling beasts no longer interested in howling at anything except their own despair perhaps at being thwarted. They liked human flesh. It usually tasted like chicken which they missed as all the groundfowl in Yotun had long been savaged into extinction.

When the fireball struck it sent up an enormous plume of roiling flame. The heat of it could be felt and the shrieks of enraged and terrified beasts filled the air before being drowned by the thunder of impact.

"Hey," Matchbie said as a bear ran over him to escape the horror. "Not polite."

He raised his rifle at the receding furry creature but Keepert lowered his barrel.

"We need fire," he reminded the younger man. "And the fire we need is over there. Bloody meteorite struck in the valley. Burning the place up nicely. I fancy me some rare mineral ore and a few roasted deer. Let's decamp while the beasts are disoriented and trek down into a treasure trove of otherworldly stuff."

"What if it's dangerous though?" Matchbie said, hesitating. "You know, all glowy?"

"What if it's the first phase of the end of the world?" Keepert snorted. "Don't make a blind bit of difference either way. We got fire, and that means in Yotun the difference between life and death. Let's go hunting."

***

THINGS FALLING from the sky often acted as a spur to thoughts on the fragility of the future.

Usually that particular commodity had a way of always being there, just a step ahead of everything, like a dropped winning Pulse Ball token rolling down a hill, flipping about in a teasing wind, or floating along a gutter until it reached the end of its visible journey as it disappeared into a very deep drain. Always out of reach. Unless there were strings attached.

Meteorites had been hitting the Face of the World for as long as anyone cared to remember. Only recently did memory come with intellectual appraisal, though that still depended on the witness.

Amid the endless sands of Greetiyah such things were sometimes deemed a nuisance for who needed more rocks? If it had been an icy comet of sorts, a cosmic snowball as some knowledgeable folk declared them to be, by the time a group of eager nomads had found the spot where the thing had fallen all that was left was a pit of sand with some dark, singing thing in the middle.

"A singing rock," one goatherd observed sententiously on a very recent occasion.

"Just what we need to water the flocks with," another sighed resignedly.

"What's it singing?" a third added, disappointment already so well established that other thoughts could come into play.

"Something about glass that don't break even if it rained from the sky, whatever rain is. Catchy tune though."

"Sounds suspicious and, you know, alluring."

"Really?" came an interested response.

The witnesses to this particular meteor strike paused on the edge of the crater to listen a moment longer. Then the singing stopped and the thing collapsed with a kind of tinkling sound like breaking glass.

"Well, that's that," one said and began herding the goats away for it was nothing they could eat either. Thus they returned to the old trails to reacquaint themselves with bone-strewn landmarks and familiar things while regaling gullible listeners with tales of singing, and even dancing, maidens from the stars trying to lure them into sin.

If they had returned to the spot some years later they would probably have found flowers where before there had only been sand, and a pool of water bubbling up from cracked bedrock.

Shame really. It just seemed more comfortable for them to believe only the worst from such odd phenomena and those who might find the oasis where none had been before would merely be grateful for a splendid piece of luck without for a moment considering the origin of such an unexpected thing. Or thinking it might mean the end of the world.

***

THE HUNTERS IN Yotun were more proactive in their pursuit of falling rocks. This was attributable to the fact their lives might actually depend upon it.

Taking advantage of the shockwave of terror that had scattered the fanged and clawed denizens of the rich jungle forests in their vicinity, the two men tumbled down off the edge of the Lost Plateau, now illuminated by the eerie glow of residual fires, and descended into the swampy valley where the meteorite had landed.

"Them trees have been splintered to matchwood," Keepert observed as they approached the impact site while thunder still rolled among the hills and the beasts that survived the explosion continued to flee in every direction, even ignoring the crazy two-legged things going towards the nightmare inferno.

Matchbie followed a bear and its cubs with his rifle sights as they scampered across the valley floor, splashing through a river swollen with debris, and away up the other side without so much as a glance at the hunters.

"Don't waste your ammunition," Keepert said. "Got other matters to attend to."

A leopard leapt out of tangled, fallen trees, jumping right over the old hunter, who ducked but did not raise his own weapon as the creature growled and ran down the valley in search of a quieter neighbourhood.

"See? Them beasts got other things on their minds too."

"What's that sound?" Matchbie said as they approached an embankment of rubble that marked the boundary of the impact crater. Smoke made them cough and an acrid smell floated around where they stood, listening.

Pings and popping noises, the crackling of burning wood and the rumble of falling rocks filled the air, but mingling with all these sounds of disaster was a melodious tune.

"Sounds like someone singing," Keepert said with a frown. He checked his rifle was loaded as if the thought of a singer in the midst of such devastation was a threat and then began ascending the rocky slope.

Matchbie reached the top just after the veteran hunter and gazed across a most unworldly landscape into a pit where once jungle had grown and a stream flowed. Nothing but steam now, blackened splinters and something dark sat in the middle of it all, humming a tuneful refrain in short bursts that suggested it sought attention.

"Shall I shoot it?" Matchbie said, raising his rifle. "You know, just to shut it up."

"Can you make out what it's saying?"

They both strained their ears to listen but the words, if words they were, seemed just beyond comprehension. Almost. Then it stopped.

"I got the impression it was trying to tell us something," Keepert eventually said, testing his understanding with this suggestion.

"Me too, but what?"

"I dunno. That'll teach you to howl at the moon you furry b******s."

The old hunter laughed at his own joke.

"Anyway," he added, "it ain't saying anything else so that means its ours." He made to scramble over the lip of the crater and down into the glassy basin of fused rock and vapour.

"Wait," Matchbie cautioned. "Might be dangerous."

"I've been confronting danger man and boy since before you were born my lad," Keepert said, shrugging off the restraining hand of his companion. He scrambled down into the pit and approached the thing sat at its centre. It looked huge from the crater lip but the weirdness of the landscape confused the eye so that when he reached where the dark mass lay it appeared no larger than a Killer Eagle's second generation egg. Just the size to grip in one gloved hand.

"It's hot," Keepert shouted back at his watching companion. With that he shouldered his rifle, took off his squirrel-skin jacket and bundled the thing up in it. As he approached Matchbie the latter backed away.

"What's the matter with you?" Keepert scoffed. "Afraid it will bite? Thing's darn heavy for its size."

"I can see," Matchbie said as he continued to keep his distance, "I can see your bones."

Before the veteran hunter could frame a response to this odd observation the sound of a flitter overhead made both men look up.

"Bloody government regulators," Keepert gasped. "Trying to horn in on our find."

***

YOTUN HAD A rather modest government structure for it was a land of wilderness that needed little control. The population was tiny in a few well-fenced settlements. The occupants mainly administered to visitors, issuing hunting licences and ensuring disclaimers and waivers were duly registered. It was a simple way to make money and avoided the legal hassle when things went wrong, which in Yotun they often did.

The one government flitter, very much a patrol craft used to ferry remains of unfortunate hunting clients who failed the vigorous test of the land, the ability to survive overnight outside the settlements, would also on very rare occasions be used to investigate some unexpected phenomenon like a plague of ravenous squirrels, fairy sightings or a dirty great meteorite impact crater near the Drang Swamp where meteorite craters were quite unexpected.

"You down there, please remain where you are while we find a survivable place to land," came an amplified voice from the skies above.

"Bloody regulators," Keepert muttered again.

Helpfully Matchbie pointed to the crater centre, being an obvious spot as it was a flat and wide clearing. Admittedly bits of it still burned and there were clouds of purplish vapour floating about that might be poisonous, but it seemed a nice ready made landing site.

The flitter duly obliged and bounced down on heat-resistant tyres. They were teeth-resistant too of course.

The two men who got out and stood on the topmost step of a flexible gangway were dressed head to toe in silvery garments more associated with transcendental circus performers than regulators. One of them waved a fat, gleaming glove.

"That you Mattie Keepert? Why I thought you'd been eaten by ravenous squirrels years ago. Cancelled your licence myself. Stamped it beast food by way of conclusion."

Still clutching the heavy rock, the veteran hunter staggered forward a bit.

"Well as you see young Roj Scratchin, I most particularly ain't beast food. Lost count of how many times them critters out there in the Drang Swamp tried to end my existence. Didn't you get my skin quotas last season?"

"Afraid not. Unless it was a small pile of squirrel tails someone found hanging from a tree one time during a patrol, that same patrol what searched for his Mightiness the Lord of Smackt who went missing. Never found the poor chap. Bit of a diplomatic incident with Mangoria to settle nonetheless."

"The squirrels got him," Keepert said, looking around. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he stood there. "There's a trick to survival on the Lost Plateau," he added in wheezing tones, "and he didn't know it, being from that there grassland place out east. They breed them tough there, but Yotun, that's tougher."

"I can see his bones," Matchbie added helpfully from a distance.

With that, Keepert turned slowly to look at his companion, a young lad he had taken under his wing as well as making use of his uncancelled licence. The expression on his face was one of wonder. Then he pitched forward and died.

"Well," Roj Scratchin said, taking a couple of careful steps down the gangway and signalling his partner to bring the equipment he knew they needed. "It looks as if the old hunter finally met his match."

"I can still see his bones," Matchbie said, as if he thought they meant him.

"Seriously hot rock," Scratchin's partner added, ambling forward in his silvery suit. "Some meteor from a way out orbit. Must have passed through the radiation belts beyond Serenity dozens of times and picked up a dose of the lethal stuff if I'm not mistaken. Best you keep back lad. We'll give you a good rinsing later. Right now though," and he pointed a device at the rock where it lay, having fallen from the old hunter's grasp when he collapsed. It immediately began screaming all sorts of warnings. "Looks like we'd best secure that little thing there before it does any more mutational havoc."

"What is it?" Matchbie said, his voice choking a little for he had grown fond of the cussing old man and his odd tales of ravenous squirrels on the rampage.

"A piece of the sky which shouldn't be here," Scratchin said.

"No," and the other peered a little more closely at it. "Meteors don't usually have writing on 'em last I looked. Especially disclaimers."

"Unless there's a factory of them, up there," and Scratchin gazed up at the sky. From a distance some tentative howling had resumed for that great glowing moon was still up there beyond the teeth of the hungry.

"Tell me, lad," the other said as he watched a wheeled machine trundle over to pick up the rock, "did the thing say anything, you know, after it landed?"

"Well," Matchbie said, "I couldn't be completely sure, what with all the other sounds going on, roaring fires and popping rocks and the like. Embarrassing to admit, but it sounded like something to do with minty bits. If you did not try it, so the thing insisted, missing out would be like the end of the world. Seemed appropriate really, I mean with dirty great chunks of the sky falling down like that."

"Frangea?" Roj Scratchin said and the other nodded.

"Possibly," he admitted and just briefly he felt a primeval urge to howl at the moon himself.