David
I was in the foothills of a mountain very similar to the one on the world that had been destroyed. I recognised the shape of the escarpment that had overlooked the site where we camped, and the peaks of the other mountains in the range stood out against the skyline, exactly as before.
I was either in a parallel world or in the past of the original world before it exploded.
I remembered nothing after my ruthless dismissal by the Tribus. If I had been transported to the recent past, then high above me would have been the base, but I did not intend to return to check, even if I could. I was an exile, abandoned by the Tribus, for failing to do my duty. Humiliated by their rejection, I could not face the people I had let down so badly, but my spirit was intact. d I would do everything possible to achieve my redemption and vowed to fight on against the machines.
There was no sign of our encampment here, although I went on my hands and knees, searching for anything that remained of our occupation, but found nothing. We had not yet arrived. or this was a parallel world.
The first pangs of hunger and thirst confirmed that I had returned to the body of a man. My spiritual inheritance might have been lost forever —the price of my failure to act. But for now, the priority was survival.
I took stock of my assets.
My pockets were empty except for a flashlight, a half-empty bottle of water, my sunglasses, and my revolver. All our supplies had been split between the backpacks, and none of them had made the trip. Several fresh water streams flowed down the mountain, so I would not die of thirst, but food was a problem.
I decided to explore before darkness fell. By the position of the sun, it was late afternoon and still light, so luckily, it was not winter. The incline was gradual, and the descent through the scrubby grass that covered most of the rock surface was easy. I eventually reached a fairly flat plateau above fifty yards long. Here, the grass was lush and green, due to the pebble-bottomed stream of clear water that ran through it. Bushes and stunted trees lined the edge, useful resources for building an overnight shelter; it was a good place for a base.
Somebody else had the same idea.
From behind a large boulder twenty yards in front, a thin wisp of grey smoke from a campfire spiralled upward, and I caught the scent of meat cooking. So, I was not alone, and I cannot deny the sensation of relief. To have been dumped in an uninhabited world with no way of leaving would have been intolerable.
I took out my revolver and checked that it was fully loaded. I had no idea of who or what lay behind that boulder, or if they were hostile or friendly, but I could take no chances. I made my way forward as silently as possible, glancing constantly around me for a sign of any others on the grassy plane.
I reached the boulder and took a deep breath. This was decision time. I could either try and move to a vantage point above the fire and see what I had to contend with, or I could take my life in my hands and act now. The rational decision would have been to reconnoitre the site first, but I was in no mood for prolonging the ordeal, and I ran around the other side of the boulder with my revolver outstretched. There was a sudden clatter as a man in a pair of torn dungarees jumped to his feet and knocked over a couple of cooking pots. He was human, about forty years old, with long hair.
His eyes went straight to the revolver.
"Identify the object in the right hand."
He spoke in a strange metallic tone of voice. Maybe he was an android, but at least we could communicate, and I answered him,
"A loaded revolver."
There was the smallest of pauses as if he was searching through his memory banks.
"Unidentified. Describe function."
I did not want him to think me hostile.
"To defend myself."
That prompted an instant response.
"Weapon?"
"Yes."
"Remove weapon."
It was an order.
I dropped my hand to my side with the gun pointing downward.
"Discard weapon."
I wasn't about to do that and never moved.
"Discard weapon or I will shoot."
He was holding the ladle that he had been stirring the pot over the fire, and despite the situation, I snorted with laughter. He looked at me with amazement and then laughed out loud.
"I don dey waka talk like machine o!"
He must have seen my puzzled expression.
"I dey yarn like machine, you fear me, my guy!"
"I dey gist like master."
He was repeating himself. This was pidgin English. A primitive language, easily learned, so that people of different nationalities can communicate. I had heard it before, and after you got used to it, not too difficult to understand.
He was saying that I had scared him, and without thinking, he had copied the way that the machines spoke to him.
"I dey gist like master."
He was determined to make me understand, but his use of 'master' was disappointing. It meant that wherever this was, the machines were still in command. I decided to let him know that I could understand a little of what he was saying.
"I sabi small wetin you dey talk."
He smiled in delight.
"Wetin be your name?"
"David," I replied.
"My name na Santiago. I don escape."
"You be Argentinian?"
He nodded.
There was the sound of a drone or small aircraft overhead, and Santiago pulled us both to the floor. But It was too late, the drone returned and circled the spot where we lay.
"E be dangerous to talk here. Dem dey heard us. Dem come find us soon. You better run. Dem go show face anytime.
He snatched a large piece of meat from the pot and wrapped it in a piece of cloth.
"Take dis food with you. Run, man, run!"