Flash Move

Sinlo Mountains C3 Amulen

Jumper knew his friend was scared. Not that Alan lacked courage. Their situation had become precarious, the result of climbing much higher than they were supposed to. The rumors about the mountain dwellers were enough to keep sensible Torians at lower elevations, and no other humans would dare venture anywhere near this area. But Jumper enjoyed his reputation at the Earth colony for being adventurous, and needed a constant supply of new stories to tell if he was to keep it up.

“I don’t like the way they have us surrounded,” Alan said in a low voice. “Let’s finish this thing and get out of here, if we can.”

Jumper broke his concentration from the game and surveyed their surroundings. Alan did have a good point. The audience of charcoal-hued, leather-skinned Amulites was now arranged in a semicircle behind them on the partial clearing, and blocking every possible exit.

Well, every possible exit except one.

“I think you’re right,” Jumper said. “Hey, we came up here to give these suits a proper testing, didn’t we?”

“I was afraid you’d say that.” Alan’s short blonde hair was standing straight up from the breeze.

Jumper chuckled. “Relax. We know they work, right?”

“No, we don’t. Not from these heights. That leap we took in the foothills was nothing, Jumper, and you know it.”

“There might not be another way down now. This is what we wanted to do anyway—kind of.”

Alan looked around nervously. “I must confess I was planning to let you go first—and hopefully off a slope, not a sheer cliff face.”

“Right,” Jumper said. “Me first, as always. My dad sure is lucky to have me.”

“If these things don’t work better than his last invention, he may not have you much longer.”

Jumper’s opponent made a grunting noise indicating a growing impatience. That was good and bad. Good if he could be pushed off-kilter by a little gamesmanship. Bad if the mountain dwellers would consider it cheating and decide to administer their own form of quick justice. Jumper noticed several of them held hand weapons as they watched.

Jumper quickly moved a piece to a spot in the game field that flashed at him for a nanosecond. He was becoming more and more confident in this impulsive-seeming style of move. When he first started trying to use it, he failed horribly and lost many times because of it—most of them to Alan in the secret basement where they practiced. Jumper could afford to lose those games, though, and had always suspected there was a powerful force to be tamed if he could perfect the move. He gradually got better with it, and finally took it out of the basement to use against the rest of the guys.

Nowadays, he was nearly unbeatable in the colony. The flash move, as Jumper liked to call it, had much to do with his success. He still didn’t fully understand it, but he learned to recognize and trust it when the opportunity presented itself. Alan was the only one of his friends who even knew about it, but was himself incapable of discerning it from the other random reflections of light in the game field. That was the real trick. It couldn’t be forced, had to be waited upon, sometimes never appeared at all, and proper recognition of it was extremely subtle. Fortunately, Jumper had learned to hone in on it.

flash moveHis opponent began nodding with what seemed to be a great degree of satisfaction.

Jumper knew that was a good sign. He trusted the flash move without understanding why it worked. It never looked like sound strategy on the surface, as it almost always occurred in a remote spot away from the current developing patterns. His opponents usually considered it a desperate attempt at a diversion. Jumper knew from experience that in a few moves the questionable piece would probably complete a bridge to a strong encompassing formation which would agitate his opponent tremendously.

That’s exactly what happened. Three moves later, the innocent looking flash move piece was the cornerstone of a formidable structure that tied together most of the field’s broken patterns from the opening moves. It was overbearing and Jumper knew he had won.

Several members of the audience stepped forward and appeared to marvel over the craftiness of this young Earthling. But not Jumper’s opponent. He grabbed ahold of his head and rocked back and forth in obvious anguish.

“Hey, don’t go berserk,” Jumper said. “It’s only a game.” He liked saying that after winning. Jumper knew all too well there was no other game remotely comparable to polwar. Everyone realized it was somehow much more than just a game. Saying that was his own special form of victory dance, a method of personal gloating—especially after beating a native.

Two of the Amulites who were holding weapons then came up behind Jumper’s defeated opponent. His opponent stood. His look of anguish turned to one of terror.

“What in Erob is going on here?” Jumper asked. He and Alan stood up as well.

Jumper’s beaten opponent then turned and ran off the side of the cliff.

Jumper and Alan chased after him as far as the edge, stopped, and looked down. That was a mistake. They saw him crash into a rock protrusion far below, tumble lifelessly down the mountainside from there, and finally vanish into a clump of large shrubs. Jumper and Alan spun back around.

A large, slightly-lighter skinned Amulite emerged from the group and sat down where Jumper’s now-deceased opponent had been. He turned off the game frame and sorted the pieces. One of the armed natives then stepped forward towards Jumper and Alan.

“You will now play our champion,” he said, motioning at Jumper with the small laser weapon in his hand.

“Man, we never should have told them you were the Earth colony champion,” Alan muttered.

“I don’t understand,” Jumper said to the big Amulite before them. “Why did he kill himself? What is this? Where we come from, this is only a friendly game.”

“Polwar is a serious affair,” the armed native replied. “You chose to come up here, uninvited. You claim to be a champion. You will now defend your claim, and play our way.”

“What happens if I lose? Can we go back down the mountain afterwards, and leave peaceably?”

The native shook his head. “You must have proper motivation to play, or it’s not a real game. We play for real.”

Jumper felt Alan grab his upper arm, restraining him. They both looked back down over the precipice.

“Come, play,” the threatening native said. “Or else the only way down is the same way your last opponent went.”

Jumper looked at Alan—who shrugged and pointed down. “Like you said, it’s why we came up here.”

“Right.” Jumper dove off the cliff without further ado. In a few seconds, his freefall was jostled by a hand grabbing his ankle. He looked up at Alan.

“Let go, you fool! The suits are magnetically repelling. We can’t be this close together!”

But it was too late. When Alan released him, their bodies were pulled together in the air and they spun uncontrollably.

“I thought you said repelling!” Alan yelled.

Jumper managed to untangle their limbs as the rushing cliff side behind them turned black, and then something must have kicked on in the suits—because he and Alan shot away from each other. Jumper was no longer falling vertically but propelling sideways. He adjusted his body to a flying position and felt his horizontal thrust find equilibrium with the force of gravity. He then settled into a gentle ebbing, back and forth, which is what—he was pretty sure—the suits were supposed to do. At least, that’s how they felt on the small slopes in the foothills.

Looking back across the mountainside, Jumper could see Alan in the distance, now slowly swaying as well. The sensation was like swinging back and forth in a hammock that was slipping down the trunks of the two trees it was fastened to. A feeble laser beam from up in the mountains then shot in Alan’s direction, probably for spite, as they were now well out of range. The float suits’ delayed activation turned out to be a blessing.

They eventually both reached the ground. Jumper’s landing was soft, but he knew he had a long walk in front of him so he started jogging. When he caught up with Alan, the two of them hiked back to the lower foothills of the Sinlo Mountains where they left their mid-range cruiser.

When they got there, however, it was gone.

“Are we sure this is where we parked it?” Alan asked as he looked about the darkening hills.

“Yeah,” Jumper said. “Extact. I knew we should have hidden it better. That brushy area up on the knoll there would have tucked it completely out of sight. Stupid, lazy mistake. Now we’ll have to camp here for the night.”

“Um, that clump of bushes you pointed to is moving. Are there dogs in these hills?”

Jumper looked again and saw the unnatural rustling in the brush. “I don’t think so. There might be some zaboar around here, but whatever’s moving those branches is too big. Could be a large bird or a stray yuquin, which would be a stroke of luck. We better check it out.”

Jumper motioned for Alan to approach on the left while he came about the right. The front bush shook erratically as they came near and then stopped. Whatever it was had moved into the small clearing behind it. Jumper signaled to Alan and they both came around from opposite sides at the same time.

It wasn’t a bird or a yuquin. They were facing a native; a rather small, bright, silver-skinned Amulite. He was crouched on the ground as if ready to spring up and run, frantically looking back and forth between Jumper and Alan. They had his only exits blocked, as the groundcover was thick behind him. Jumper noticed Alan also looked ready to scramble on a second’s notice.

“Did you take our cruiser?” Jumper asked. “It was parked right down there.” He pointed.

The Amulite c****d his head at Jumper and stayed in place. Finally he said, “Earthlings?”

“That’s right. My name is Jumper and my friend there is Alan2.”

The Amulite stood and slowly made his way over to Jumper, looking him up and down in the fading moments of daylight. Alan came up behind him. The Amulite turned and studied Alan for a minute before facing Jumper again.

“Young Earthlings?”

“Correct. I am 24 and my friend will be 23 next month.”

“Almost didn’t live to see it,” Alan mumbled.

Jumper ignored him. “Are you one of them?” He motioned toward the mountains.

The Amulite looked up before answering. “Are there really Torians who live up there?”

“I guess not then,” Jumper said. “Yes—we met some of them today. They didn’t exactly make us feel welcome.”

“Pretended to be friendly at first,” Alan said. “Are you friendly?”

The Amulite bowed. “Tulros. I am Hol4, a native of this continent. I’m considering climbing into the mountains tomorrow and seeking out whatever community may be there.”

“Hope you’re good at polwar,” Alan said.

Hol4 c****d his head for a second. “Oh, the game. Yes, that’s what they call it. I had forgotten.”

“You don’t want to go up in these mountains if you’ve forgotten about polwar,” Alan said. “Or even if you haven’t. They’re a bit …fanatical up there.”

“Who can forget the game?” Hol4 said while looking to the opposite horizon. “I simply forgot its name, as I don’t play. But we all know the game. It’s is why we are segregated, and why we must work as we do. Work that is difficult for the few who now supply the many. Or else there wouldn’t be enough food. ”

“Oh,” Jumper said. “You work in the agritents?”

“Yes. Or at least, I did.”

“Those are in the north, on the high plains, right?” Jumper asked. “We’ve never gone out that far.”

“Perhaps it would be best if you never do. The tents are no longer restrained to the north, as production needs have caused them to spread down into the lowlands.”

“So, have you seen our cruiser?” Alan interjected. “It’s a mid-ranger. We left it right down here on this slope.”

Hol4 shook his head. “Sorry. There were no vehicles here when I arrived an hour ago.”

“Well, we better make camp for the night,” Jumper said. “It’s getting dark. Please join us. We have some dried fish we can share, and there’s a creek up the trail a ways where Alan can fetch us water while I build a fire.”

Hol4 looked alarmed when Jumper said the word fire, but he hesitantly agreed.

* * *

If there was one thing Jumper enjoyed, it was showing off his survival skills. He hummed to himself as he gathered wood, sticks, and dry brush. He started a fire by rapidly spinning a stick upon a piece of bark within a clump of dry brush, and adding twigs after it caught. As the flames gained strength, he put the smaller wood pieces on. When the fire was hot enough, he added some cortzye stones he found—there were many in the area—and piled bigger wood pieces on top. Hol4 kept looking about as the fire grew bigger. There was something furtive about his uncomfortable fits, but Jumper decided not to pester him about it.

Alan wasn’t a novice camper, either. One couldn’t be if they were Jumper’s best friend. He came back with three full water pouches he made from folding freshly-picked leer tree leaves. Jumper then fastened two green sticks together to make a tong that could hold a hot cortzye stone long enough to swirl around in the water pouches for a few seconds, sending brief billows of steam from each of them.

“Hard to believe we now need to sanitize water,” Hol4 said before taking a drink. “For thousands of years it’s been clean and safe to drink straight from the ground.”

“At least you don’t need skin protection,” Alan said. “The dissipation of the upper firmament is causing skin problems for humans—especially those of us with lighter complexions. These days, we have to apply chemicals before going outside for long periods, or else wear protective gear. My mom says Earth was like that, but she never had to worry about it on Amulen before, and now it’s worse here than it ever was on Earth. Soon the remaining population of Amulen humans may have to move to Banor.” He looked up at the night sky. “Not that there’s many of us left here.”

Hol4 turned his gaze from Alan to Jumper. “Why isn’t your name numerically designated, as your friend’s?”

Before Jumper could answer, Alan laughed and said, “His father doesn’t like numbers in the names. So he named him something nobody else is ever going to name their kid. You should hear what his full name really is.”

“Only if you want your nose rearranged,” Jumper said to Alan. “And some humans on Banor do name their kids the Earth way, without numbers, from what I understand.”

“Maybe so,” Alan said. “We’ll find out firsthand if we’re forced to move there.”

Jumper took some of the dried fish out of a package he had in his float suit pocket and broke off a sizeable piece to give to Hol4. He accepted it gratefully, and split it with Alan. They all ate. Jumper was thankful his skin was darker than most of his friends, but knew he wasn’t immune from the now-dangerous sun rays either. His dad thought he should grow his hair out as natural protection for his neck, but Jumper didn’t like how bushy it got so he kept it shorter. He must have inherited his thick black hair from his mother.

“Cardinal-4 sure is bright tonight,” Alan said.

Jumper looked up and instantly saw it. “Yeah, wow. That’s something. You know they are renaming it Cardinal-5 when the current construction work is done.”

“Yeah, but how long will that take?” Alan’s tone was cynical.

Jumper shrugged. “Three years. Maybe five.”

“I’d like to go there,” Hol4 said. “To work and live.”

“What about the mountains?” Alan asked.

“What you’ve told me of them is not appealing. I prefer to get away from the games, but without being labeled a deserter of my home continent. A work contract at the station would accomplish that for me.”

“In that case,” Jumper said, “I think you may have stumbled upon the right Earthlings. My dad is good friends with the space station steward.”

Hol4 leaned forward. “You mean the governor of Cardinal-4?”

“Yes,” Jumper replied. “Although, since the station is effectively closed during reconstruction, and the elections there have been halted, my political science professor says ‘steward’ is a more accurate title for him.”

Hol4 kept looking out across the flatlands as he finished his fish. He seemed to be thinking about something important, while still slightly on edge.

“Come with us tomorrow,” Jumper said to him. “I’ll take you to my father, and we’ll see if he can get you connected to a space station job.”

“Who’s your father?”

“He’s a professor of sociology at the university. But his real passion is gadgetry. He’s an inventor and technology researcher. He created these special suits we have on, which give the wearer some anti-gravity capabilities.”

“Some,” Alan said.

“I said some.”

“Your father was one of the frozen research subjects, right?” Hol4 asked. “How has he risen to such prominence in Amulen society?”

“I don’t think it was all that difficult,” Jumper said. “Have you taken a good look at our society lately?”

Hol4 nodded. “Well, I’m glad to hear the local university is still in operational status. That’s hopeful.”

Alan began laughing. “I wouldn’t go so far as to call it fully operational. We have some professors who are more obsessed with lecturing than any side-pursuit could ever seduce them. They still talk, so some of us go listen to what they have to say, hoping to learn something. But the curriculum is unstructured. There’s no grades, no graduation, the professors don’t keep track of who’s listening, and there is no publicly-recognizable benefit for attending. Extat, we can’t even prove we were there. So ‘position of prominence in society’ isn’t an accurate reference of the professors’ jobs. And Jumper’s dad isn’t exactly famous for his inventions.”

Jumper threw a small rock at Alan, who flinched and shot him a defiant look.

“I’ll go with you, nevertheless,” Hol4 said. “I have nothing else to do, and greatly appreciate your offer. Do you think your immediate ancestor can actually help me secure a work contract at the station?”

Jumper started nodding, but Alan interrupted again before he could respond.

“Don’t get your hopes up too high. His father has never even been to the space station. But you are still much better off coming with us than climbing into these mountains, that’s for sure.”

“Even if my dad can’t get him the job directly, Uncle Brandon can,” Jumper snapped.

“I thought your dad and the prophet weren’t talking to each other,” Alan said.

“Ah, they’ve just been taking a break.” Jumper poked at the fire. “Those two could never stop being friends after all they’ve been through. I bet I can get them to hook up again with only a little push. If not, Uncle Brandon is always happy to see me. I don’t even need Dad. I can take Hol4 to him myself and get him that job.”

“You know the Earth prophet?” Hol4 asked. He suddenly sounded excited.

“Jumper and his dad don’t believe he’s a prophet,” Alan said.

Jumper picked up another rock and aimed at Alan’s head, but managed to regain his composure. He tossed it aside and answered Hol4.

“He’s always just been Uncle Brandon to me. I realize he’s been widely labeled a prophet. My dad says he’s just a human who’s been given more than his share of luck. Personally, I don’t know—and don’t really care, to be honest, although I’ll admit I remain unconvinced that prophets are real.”

“There’s supposed to be a new Sheen prophet,” Hol4 said.

“Yes, so we’ve heard.” Jumper put another piece of wood on the fire. “A Banorian Sheen. But he abandoned Tora before I was even born.”

“That’s strange,” Alan said in a different voice. Jumper saw he was looking at the sky again.

“What’s strange?”

“The moving light.”

Jumper looked up. There was now a large, bright object of some sort slowly approaching the light from Cardinal-4. It was too big for a spaceship, and too slow for a meteor. The three of them watched as it continued moving toward the space station until finally the two lights merged, brightening momentarily. Then all appeared normal again with Cardinal-4.

“No,” Hol4 said as they were all still watching the sky. “A new Sheen prophet. Right here, in the lowlands where I …used to work. One of the red order.”

Jumper looked back at Hol4. “What do you mean, red order?”

“The red Sheen. One of the red Sheen is a new prophet. That’s what we hear, at least. His camp is just outside the southernmost tents, at the edge of the central valley. He has a special new name, a title of some sort, which slips my mind at the moment. They say he’s preparing the way for a great interstellar gathering. The old Erob coalition members will come, and there will be a new era of peace and prosperity.”

“I’ve never heard of a red Sheen order,” Jumper mused.

Hol4 nodded. “Yes, I guess they’re a new sect.”

“Since when do native Torians pay much attention to what any Sheen say?” Alan asked.

Hol4 pointed to the north. “In the agritent camps we have few forms of recreation. We feed on whatever news, stories, or rumors we can get in the current age—especially those which offer hope.” He looked up at the night sky again. “I remember having hope when I was younger. I was a technology student, the best in my class, and was going to make a living working on important projects that would better our worlds. That was before the fall, before the game came. All that education and I ended up picking fruit.”

The conversation began to lag as the campfire receded. Alan fell asleep first. Hol4 seemed more relaxed when the firelight had dimmed. Jumper put a fresh pile of cortzye stones on the coals to make sure the warmth would continue through the night and dozed off while lying on his side. The float suit was thicker than the usual climate-controlled outfits he and Alan usually wore, but only a little uncomfortable to stretch out in.

A few of the stones were still hot when Jumper awoke in the predawn, so he went to refill the water pouches in the gray light. When he returned, the sun was peeking over the top of the western horizon. How strange it must be on Earth having sunrises in the east. Alan and Hol4 were stirring and stretching. Jumper sanitized their water again and they consumed the last of the dry fish for breakfast.

“How are we going to get back to the cities?” Alan asked. “We need transportation.”

“I’m sure one of the Midlands patrols will take us to the out-towns, if we can find one,” Jumper replied. But he knew that might not be so easy, and they had quite a hike to even get to the Midlands.

Hol4 looked concerned. “How far is it if we have to walk?”

“Too far,” Jumper and Alan said in unison.

“Days,” Jumper added. “And we’re out of food.”

“Can’t we go south along the base of these mountains?” Hol4 asked. “Then pick up the Ireden range and head west from there? At least we’ll have a water supply that way, and I’ll wager the two of you can find natural food sources.”

Jumper scratched his chin. “He does have a point, there.”

Alan objected. “Jumper, it’s at least two days longer if we do it that way, maybe three—as we’ll be travelling survival-style. And our parents will be getting concerned.”

“You have good point, too. And all we need to do is find someone with a transmitter, to get a message back to the colony. Kayla or Marvin will probably come out to get us.”

Alan shook his head. “Not if we’re past the out-towns. None of our friends have spines.”

“I think I can get them to come,” Jumper said. But at that moment he saw a dust cloud moving in their direction from the northwest. “Or maybe we won’t have to.”

Alan and Hol4 turned their heads at that comment and saw the dust. It was approaching fast. Hol4 then broke into a sprint and ran up into the hills.

“What’s the matter?” Jumper called after him.

Within a few minutes, the vehicle responsible for kicking up the dust was in full view. It was a long-range off-trail cruiser, the large model. Six natives were in it, but they still had room for several more. Jumper could see at least two of them holding rifles.

“Those things are so cool,” Alan said. “Look how far off the ground it hovers, and can climb over uneven terrain. We’ve got to get one of those.”

“The cruiser is cool,” Jumper said, “but are the passengers? They’re heavily armed, and they scared off Hol4 for some reason. Come to think of it, he was nervously looking off in that direction all night.”

Alan glanced up the hill where Hol4 had now vanished beyond the brush line. “I guess we’re about to find out.”

The rugged hovercraft climbed right up the slope over rocks, fallen trees, and small depressions without slowing until it reached them. It was a canvas-top type, but the top was not attached this morning, exposing the upper frame.

“So cool,” Alan said.

The vehicle stopped right next to them—but before it could lower, four Amulites jumped out—including the two with the rifles—and hit the ground running. They scrambled up the hills the way Hol4 had gone without bothering to acknowledge Jumper and Alan.

When the cruiser was settled on the ground with the engine off, the remaining two natives, also both Amulites, stepped out.

“What’s going on?” Jumper asked. He then noticed the emblem on the side of the cruiser, which looked like two sickles crossed. “You’re with the Northern Militia?”

“That’s right,” the one who had been in the front passenger seat said. “I’m Captain Musin3. What are two Earthlings doing in these foothills?” He looked at their campfire remains. “You slept here?”

“Yes,” Jumper said. “We hiked into the mountains yesterday, on a university project. We left our cruiser here, but when we came back it was gone. Did you take it?”

Musin3 ignored his question. “You were aiding the fugitive?”

“Fugitive? We don’t know anybody out here. What about our cruiser? We’re stranded now.”

“Jumper,” Alan said, directing his attention up the hillside. The other four Amulites were now escorting Hol4 back down. One of them was leveling his rifle towards him. Hol4 looked dejected. Jumper turned back to Musin3.

“Why is he a fugitive?”

“He broke from the settlement and ran. Him and one other, still under work contracts. Aiding fugitives is a crime.”

“We don’t know him,” Alan said. “He was here where we left our cruiser. It was stolen, and night was falling—so we shared our camp with him. That’s all.”

Jumper scowled at Alan. Talk about being spineless.

“How is it possible for a Torian to be a fugitive?” Jumper asked. “Work contract? If he wants to quit and go work somewhere else, why is that any of your concern? Hol4 is with us now. We’ll hook him up with new work—work he enjoys.”

The driver of the vehicle stepped back inside and sat on top of the driver’s seat with his head above the roof frame.

“Captain,” he said. “If the fugitive is now ‘with’ these Earthlings, perhaps the Earthlings should be with the fugitive.”

“Good idea,” Musin3 said. He pointed to Jumper and Alan, then to the back of the cruiser.

“You need transportation? Get in.”

Alan stepped backwards and opened his mouth to say something, which caused Musin3 to step towards him and the driver to reach for something down on the seat.

But Jumper immediately hopped on board and sat in the back row. These militia guys didn’t scare him, and he wanted to see where they were taking Hol4.

“Come on Alan,” Jumper said. “We do need a ride.” That caused the captain and the driver to stop their movements.

Alan reluctantly climbed inside the big hovercraft. “I hope we don’t end up seeing more of the planet than we want to,” he grumbled.

The armed procession returned and came around the far side of the cruiser. Two of them pushed Hol4 into the back seat with Jumper and Alan. Hol4 placed his head in his hands. Jumper patted his shoulder and said, “Don’t worry.” It had no noticeable effect on him.

The pungent smell of fuel filled the air as the cruiser started up again, lifted, turned, and came down from the slopes. When it was back on flat ground, it accelerated smoothly. They were soon speeding across the plain impressively.

“Yeah,” Jumper said to Alan. “We do need to get one of these babies.”

Alan leaned towards Jumper. In a low voice he said, “Maybe this one.”

Jumper smiled broadly. Now that’s the Alan he liked so much; his best friend.