Jones and the Mammoths
By Simon Poore
Copyright 2011 Simon Poore
(2013 Edit)
[email protected] simontall.com
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Jones and the Mammoths
There was a clicking noise near his ear; sharp and very loud. Grinding metal on metal; almost so loud it hurt. The sound pierced into his head. His dulled mind absently wondered about the pain inducing qualities that sound could have.
As the sound slowly forced his mind to become more self aware, Jones could feel himself breathing, fast and deep; the physical rise and fall of his chest against the ground was proof of his continuing existence.
He tried to open his eyes but he found them to be gummed shut. He found he could move his arm; a groaningly physical effort. Dragging his limp hand up to his eyes; sharp grit scratched his eyelids as he rubbed them with his fingers. He tried to blink hard, and, as his eyelids jerked and slowly pulled open, dirty tears began tracking down his cheeks. His hand moved in an attempt to wipe the grit from his fingertips onto the material of his suit and then he struggled to wipe at his eyes again.
At first his vision was just a hazy blur of whiteness; dots and swimming balls of light. He blinked his dry eyes quicker in an agitated fashion. More grit scratching the sore surface of his eyeballs as he blinked and rubbed. He thought about how his eyes could feel so dry and sore and yet produce tears.
His face was lying on white sand; the glassy granules plastering his face and hair. Sand in his mouth. It covered his dry tongue; hard grit crunching uncomfortably against his teeth. He tried to spit but to no avail.
A bright sun was low in the sky, shining directly at his eye line, dazzling in its intensity; making him squint and screw his face, which in turn made more particles of sand fall into his eyes. He decided to lie still for a while.
Eventually his laboured breathing began to slow and he managed to lift his head. He shook it, as if that somehow could remove the hangover sharpness of his headache. Pain; more proof of his existence. Pain in his temples and his skull. He placed his face gently back against the sand.
He tried to think about his situation but the only thing he could come up with was that still being alive seemed to be a far fetched proposition. He had been on board his ship, hadn't he?
Lifting his head again he forced his sore eyes to look around. If there were any observers around they would have seen a slightly bemused look on his face.
The loud clicking had begun to slow and he turned his head to see the massive silver and white aero-turbine engine. It was dug awkwardly into the sand less than a metre from his head. Its supposedly frictionless inner blades were catching on its heavily dented outer shell as they spun; this was the source of the noise. It began to slow further as the engine used up the last of its independent power supply. Smoke and steam drifted across the beach, the grind of engine-whirr began to plod and die; like a wind-up toy running down. The hum and click of the engine was slowly replaced by the sound of softly rolling surf.
Jones eventually managed to sit up. He ignored his dizzying headache as best he could and looked down at himself. There was blood on his fingers. He attempted to rub the sand out of his hair and from his face. A sizeable wound just above his hairline was the source of bleeding; the blood was mixed with sand and drying; caked on his face like bizarre war paint.
He looked back down the beach to where he thought the ship should be and realised it must have ditched into the sea; he could see a few bits of incongruous debris floating and bobbing like corks, quite far out. The aero-turbine must have been damaged and loosened during the steep entry into the planet's atmosphere, and then perhaps ripped off to smash into the sand. The ship must have skimmed the sea with massive force; its streamlined bulk bouncing as if it were merely a pebble dancing across the surf.
Trying to remember what had happened was a struggle; he had been on the run from a much faster ship and been hit several times by its plasma weapons, but he could not remember much past this; he couldn't even remember which system he was in, never mind any nearby planets. The chances of shipboard systems computing a ditch on an inhabitable planet were incredibly slim, especially if he had been far out. The combination of intense G-forces and a knock on the head had taken its toll he decided. He shook his head again to try and clear his mind. Again the movement induced pain and he swallowed a slight feeling of nausea.
He stood up slowly and checked himself over. Hands patting his own body as if he were searching himself for contraband. Apart from the head wound he seemed pretty much intact. His all purpose uni-suit seemed to be functioning and readouts told him he was ok. He had rations and weapons stored in various pockets. He could see his helmet lying on the sand a few metres away; an ominous spiderweb crack in the clear visor.
From a patch on the arm of his suit he pulled out a tube, and from that he squeezed some coagulant gel onto his fingers and smeared it over the wound on his head. It stung like crazy, making him grit his teeth; sand grating unwelcomely against the enamel.
Nearby he could see the escape seat that must have thrown him automatically onto the beach before impact, it was being dragged slowly out to sea by the gentle surf, the last remnants of its power blinking and fizzing in the cold sea water.
Walking up the beach, he drank water from another tube that emerged from the neck-piece of the orange suit. He rinsed and spat several times. Boots sinking as he clambered stiffly up the nearest dune.
Stopping near the summit he took out a small scanner from a pocket on his thigh. In the near distance he could see a forest to the left and some scrubby heathlands to the right, but first he aimed the scanner at the sea where he thought the ship would have probably gone down.
It soon located the ship; it had come to rest quite far out and about a hundred odd metres below the surface on the sea bed. Much deeper than Jones had hoped for, which obviously meant anything useful wasn't retrievable for now. He wasn't unduly worried as the scanner informed him that the ship's systems had sent coded digital retrieval signals before it went down. This meant that a drone rescue pod would hopefully be despatched and should arrive at some point in the future. The main problem was that he was unsure when that would be.
He took a few steps back down the dune and looked around; taking stock. Far along the beach he could see what looked like a stream running into the sea; probably fresh water, a good sign. Jagged strips and all sorts of chunks of gleaming metal debris from the ship littered the sand all around, hopefully some of useful.
Jones bent down and picked up a mothership badge from the sand between his boots. It was like a small shiny coin. Strolling down to the waters edge he watched the smoke and steam dissipating across the low surf. He bent low and threw the coin into the sea; watching it skim several times across the surf before sinking, just like the ship must have done.
The scanner bleeped softly to warn him that life forms were approaching. Jones spun round and trotted back up the beach and the dune to look in the direction of the forest.
There, emerging from the evergreen trees, was a herd of large hairy animals; quadrupeds. He could see they were a type of probiscidean. The group contained what appeared to be several adults and infants. Various hooting noises and low rumblings emanated from their direction, perhaps from their long swinging proboscises; trunks that swung low to the ground as they moved.
They were slowly loping out of the forest; infants tripping through the dust between adult feet, under cover of the straggly matted red-brown fur of their mothers. A couple of large males at the head of the group; massive heads marked by pronounced humps on their skulls. The two paused momentarily, raising their trunks as if to taste the air.
Jones could se
e that they could smell his curious scent wafting on the onshore breeze, and, for a moment, each of the two looked his way. But then, each in turn seemed to decide he was no threat at that distance and carried on their way.
Most of the animals seemed to be equipped with long sharp curling tusks, but Jones felt instinctively that they wouldn't be aggressive or pose a threat unless provoked. They seemed placid and content and he watched them for a while, breathing the cold salt air in through his nostrils.
"Hmmm...I guess this must be Earth," he thought out loud to no one, "...at least I won't go hungry."
Standing alone and still, he surveyed the scene as the majestic animals tramped past on their way. He took another deep breath of the unexpectedly refreshing natural air, nodded to himself and smiled a wry smile.