Breach of Protocol

Breach of Protocol

Chris Morgan

           Besmelt reached the crest of the ridge, stopped, and surveyed the next valley. These Solstice hunts were always a time of reflection for him. He thought over things that his grandfather had told him, especially about the world that no longer was.                            

What did he know about it? Well, the world had once been very different. It had been filled with marvelous things, unimaginable things. There had been many more people. The people were just people, there were no Changed Ones. Everyone was in touch with everyone else. People could travel great distances in conveyances that moved themselves.

           Then, came the Breach. Gramps called it “a collision with an alternate reality,” whatever that meant. “Everything was fragmented,” he had said. “Many familiar parts of life were suddenly missing. Many more strange ones had been added.” Gramps had looked at him intently and shook his head. “You can’t know what it was like.”

           But, Gramps had a plan, and also hope. “To survive, we have to find friends, other groups like ourselves,” he had said. “We need to explore, to find the resources as well as locate the dangers.”           

           Thus far, they were fed, clothed and sheltered. They had celebrations from time to time to make life more cheerful. Gramps thought the Feast of the Winter Solstice was especially important. “It builds morale,” he had said, “and binds us together and forms tradition.”

           So, here was Besmelt, hunting for something to contribute to the celebration. He was also looking for things to give as gifts. And, as always, he was on the lookout for dangers such as the Changed Ones and the weird creatures that supposedly hid in the mountains. And, yes, it would have been wonderful if he could meet members of another community so that his people, the Cave People, could make new friends as Gramps hoped.

           Even that would have its dangers, though. Everyone was instructed to be friendly, but cautious, when meeting a new group. Make note of their location, Gramps had said, then go back and tell the Elders of the discovery. They would decide on the proper approach for establishing relations. The Cave People could never forget the grisly example of the Apple Knockers, or Orchard People of a nearby valley, whose insouciance had cost them their lives. They had carelessly allowed a group of strangers into their valley, and were totally exterminated. The intruders were undoubtedly Changed Ones, since they stripped the flesh from the bones of their victims. Often it was difficult to tell a Changed One from a true human until it was too late.

           As Besmelt rounded the bend in the trail, he thought he could hear some odd noises. They seemed like weak, muffled sounds of distress. Then, he saw the source of the noise and almost jumped out of his skin.

           It was a Snallygaster. He had found pictures of such beings before. It had the tail, the long neck, the scales and the wings.

           Gramps had discounted the pictures completely.

           “It’s just an old legend,” he had said.

           Well, here was the “old legend,” alive and breathing right before him. He moved closer. The Snallygaster looked up, and their eyes met. He knew that he was looking into the eyes of a person, not some mindless beast. A person in distress.

           “I don’t know if you can understand me, stranger,” he said, “but you’re hurt and I’m going to help.”

“Fgmph,” said the stranger, motioning toward himself with a front claw. Then, he motioned toward his rear leg, the foot of which was hidden in the bushes.

Besmelt jerked a thumb toward his chest and said “Besmelt.”

He pulled the shrubbery out of the way and saw what the problem was. It was a huge spring trap. No doubt it had been set by the Changed Ones. It took a certain dexterity to open one of those, which the Snallygaster didn’t seem to have. He stood on the spring, pulled the jaws apart, and locked them open. He examined Fgmph’s ankle. It wasn’t broken.

How had Fgmph been lured in? Besmelt looked around the bottom of the shrubs and found apples. Apples of the same kind that the Orchard People grew. He gathered them up and presented them to Fgmph, who started munching on them with gusto. Besmelt improvised a bucket out of his pack cover and fetched some water from the nearby stream. Fgmph downed it gratefully.

He seemed to be recovering rapidly. He stood on his hind legs, spread his wings, and let out the loudest noise Besmelt had ever heard.

Evidently, it was a shout of joy and exuberance. Or, maybe it was meant to impress the Changed Ones. At any rate, Fgmph seemed to be all right.

He motioned to Besmelt, then  gestured at himself, and finally, indicated the sky.

Obviously, an invitation to go flying. But to where? Probably Fgmph’s home. That would be great. The main thing was to be able to get back to his own home. He reached into a pocket and pulled out his map and compass. Those would guide him there by air, same as by land.

 He looked at one feature on the map, an ink mark. It showed where something had been changed. In this case, it was a bridge that had collapsed, probably sabotaged by the Changed Ones. His father, he’d been told, had been killed trying to get across the gorge that it had spanned. He was trying to get to Gramps’ “laboratory” (whatever that was), that had been there since before the Breach.

Gramps had reminisced at length about all the wondrous things in his “laboratory,” and had gone on about how the things in it could change the lives of the Cave People and their friends for the better. The problem was getting to it on the other side of the impassable gorge.

Besmelt smiled, walked toward Fgmph, and motioned to himself, Fgmph and the sky.

#                               #                                                  #

Gramps and the other Cave People scanned the pass. Still no sign of Besmelt, and it was the Feast of the Solstice. Something must be wrong.

Gramps shook his head. The young fellow reminds me more of his father every day, he thought. I sure hope his curiosity doesn’t do him in, too. Sometimes he just doesn’t know when to show some sense and back off.

“Wait,” said one of the men, “What’s that in the sky? Something’s flying toward us!”

“And, there’s more behind it!”

The flying things grew closer, and the Cave People saw Besmelt riding on the back of the leader, smiling and waving and holding some sort of a bundle. Several of the flyers also carried bundles in their front claws. They wheeled, swooped, and circled to the delighted squeals of the children.

They all deposited their bundles before the Cave People. Besmelt handed his to Gramps.

“Happy Winter Solstice, Gramps. Meet my friend Fgmph and the Flying People. Think we could spare them some apples?”

Gramps was not pleased. “Besmelt, what have I told you about bringing strangers in here before we have a chance to size them up? And, what people? These aren’t people!”

Besmelt smiled a bit lopsidedly. “Well, I did remember that Gramps. But I also remembered another bit of your wisdom, an old proverb, ‘You know who your friends are just by looking in their eyes.’ Fgmph has been my wings, and I’ve been his hands. Hey, open your bundle. It’s stuff the Flying People and I found in some ruins.”

Gramps opened it. “My books! My lab instruments!”

He beamed. “These are good people!”

END