Welcome to my mind. Keep your hands and feet attached at all times and ignore the ghosts; they generally mean well. Today I will add an excerpt from the fourth novel, working title "The Orion Spur" (or possibly "Trouble in the Orion Spur"). This section sees the introduction of an aboriginal named Bach Spivey, who lives in the Northern Territory of Australia. He is greeted by Bernie Jacobs (an elderly Jewish man). I welcome all thoughts as I am traversing unknown waters trying to give proper speech and slang to an aboriginal from the NT. If you see something that does not ring true, let me know. I would appreciate it.
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A little dingo bird, trying to make a nest in one of the scrubby bushes, wrestled with the twigs and branches, trying to get them to go where he wanted. Bach Spivey sat watching its progress for a while, as he leaned back in the meager shade cast by the corrugated metal of his tiny shack's roof.
"Welcome to the Scrub, little friend." he said quietly. "I'd throw an old shirt over that bush to help you stay out of the sun, but you'd probably think I was up to no good and fly away. I guess you will have to make do with what shade you're getting from the brush itself." As precious as water was, out here in the Scrub, he thought about setting out a little dish with water for the dingo bird. After all, the bird was now his closest neighbor. He considered he might use a stick to slide it over towards the bush very slowly. Most people who lived in the Scrub were there because their parents had lived there and their parents before them, going back to the beginning, –whenever that might have been. Bach was one of those. There was not that much to do, but, as with the little bird, sometimes just living here took a lot of work.
For now, Bach's main concern was staying in the shade and waiting for the cool of the evening, so he could walk about. He might go visit his good friend Sully, but for now the heat was making him drowsy. Before long, he was lolling on the verge of sleep when a strange sound drifted in from the distance. He had never heard a sound like that before. In reality, it was two sounds mixed together. First, there was the distant sound like thunder, and then shortly thereafter, a whistle joined it, like something moving fast through the air. The whistle rose in pitch, higher and higher, as it turned upwards.
He did not have to turn his head, only his eyes, which was good. It seemed especially hot today, and he hated moving if he didn't have to. Perhaps this was that global warming he had heard talk of. Staring straight ahead, but slightly to the left, he could see that there was something shiny on the horizon. It moved to the right, directly across his field of view, and curved upward at a steeper and steeper angle. The further it climbed, the higher pitched the sharp whistling sound that came from that direction. It was going faster and faster as it climbed. The thunderous roar and whistle was louder now, coming from behind the silvery thing, and seemed to follow it.
"That's no plane, is it, bird?" The object looked like an airplane, but was very sleek and pointed in the front, and from the rear, enough fire poured out that he could see it glowing brightly against the sunny afternoon sky. It left a trail of smoke behind, but the smoke was light enough that it disappeared quickly.
"I might move that fast if my tail was on fire. How about you, bird?" The whistle had gotten too high to hear, now. The silvery shape disappeared far up in the sky, and the remaining smoke and thunder were gone quickly thereafter.
"Well, that was different." he summed up, and resolved to tell Sully about it to see if they could figure out what it might have been. He knew what it reminded him of, –one of the ancient tales that the story-keepers passed from generation to generation. It would be quite exciting if that where what it was. As a small boy, he had dreamed of those times.
The story he liked best
told of the spot where he sat. According
to that tale, this place had once held a great city, where ships took off and
landed from far worlds, bringing the ancients who came to teach men how to
hunt and how to make things. They told
how the First Men who lived here made enemies out there and those enemies followed them back here and destroyed the city.
From that, the Scrub was born.
They poisoned the land, so little grew here any more.
What Bach had seen must be one of those First
Men crafts, perhaps hidden in a cave all this time. He would relate it to a story-keeper. Could there be a story or a song he had not heard, which would tell more of such things?
* * *
"G'Day," called an elderly man as he approached Bach's little house.
Bach answered back, "G'Day, Mate. Owyergoin?" (Hello friend. How's it going?)
"Not bad lately," answered the man, as he approached. "Is this your land?"
Bach considered the man without getting up. "Well, now that is an interesting question. The answer depends on how you mean it. If you mean, is this the place where I live, then yes, it is. If you are asking whether the land belongs to me, then I would answer that there is a native title or ILUA registered for this land at the place where the government keeps such things. However, my real answer is: Who can truly own the land? It was here before us and will be here long after we are gone. The land is its own master. It is also the master of foolish Pommies[1] who walk about in the heat of the day."
The City-man glanced up and grinned. "I can see the truth in that. My name is Bernie Jacobs. May I come share your shade and talk?"
Even though he was a city man, possibly American, he seemed respectful enough. Bach shrugged and motioned with his head towards his other chair, which, like the one he now sat on, was next to the wall in the shade. "Please stay clear of that bush, though. My neighbors are shy of strangers." The man from the city looked at the bush Bach indicated. A piece of old cloth lay stretched over the top of it.
As the man looked, he saw that a little ways below the cloth, there was a bird's nest in the bush where he saw a pair of birds. As Bach had asked, the man from the city did skirt far out around the bush, before coming to sit down on the one empty chair.
Bach extended his hand. "I'm Bach Spivey. Take a rest."
The man, Bernie, said, "I spoke with your chief, Warra, and also with one of your story-keepers, Natan. I was told the ancients had a city here in the long-time-past."
Bach agreed. "Yes, I have also heard speak of this, but I have seen no evidence."
The man unslung the pack hanging over his shoulder and sat. He brought out a thermos. "Care for a drink of tea? I'll warn you, it already has sugar in it."
Bach agreed and reached for his cup, swigging down the last of the water inside.
Bernie poured him some tea and they sat for a while in the shade, drinking and exchanging light conversation about the heat of the day, certain small clouds in the distance, and whether rain might be possible. Bach told Bernie that he thought the birds were some of his ancestors, but had not yet figured out which ones. "They could have lived anywhere, but they chose this spot, so they must be here to look after me, and me, them."
The man, Bernie, finally asked, "What I was wondering was something Warra and Natan told me. What about this plane that looked like it went right up into space?"
"As I told them, it was no plane. It took off from over there." He pointed at the spot on the near side of the hills, where he had first seen the thing appear. "It started off level, but as it moved forward and picked up speed, it turned upwards, steeper and steeper." He traced the path he remembered, curving upwards, "–until it disappeared from view about there. It went into space. "
"Could it have been further away than it looked? That is the right direction for a rocket fired from Woomera."
"True, but Woomera is far away. It is south beyond Coober Peddy. What I saw definitely rose up on this side of those hills, –not beyond them. I haven't seen my friend Sully lately, but if he's home he might know more. It was much closer to his place. He should have even heard the sound if he were sleeping in his underground room."
Bernie raised an eyebrow. "Underground room?"
"One year several of us men went walkabout together. We went to Uluru, which you may call Ayer's Rock. It's a holy place. After that, we walked south to Coober Peddy. We wanted to see the way the people who mine the opals made whole houses underground. My friend, Sully, was so thrilled with the idea of underground houses, that he said when we got back here; he was going to dig out under his house and make a room. He must have done, for his house is always cool inside. He says the cool air comes from underground."
Bernie looked thoughtful. "Sully sounds like an interesting person. –Is he a lifelong friend?"
"He has been here a few years. He asked permission to build a house in that corner of our titled land," Bach pointed, "–and Warra agreed. He is a brother, but when he first came here, I couldn't understand him at all. I think he walked away from one of those government sites, although he didn't seem to know any English. Some of them teach only in English, so our people struggle to understand what they mean by the words."
"If he is native, then why couldn't you understand him?"
"You may not know it, but there were two hundred fifty different languages here before the English came, and there are still one hundred forty five, I am told. We may all be related in some way, but there are many tribes or nations. Sully was simply from a different tribe." Bach smiled at the grandfather-man, hoping he did not sound patronizing. "We decided to teach him English instead of Yolngu talk, since that is understood by most of us and would help him in dealing with your people."
"Let me correct that. I may speak English, but the English are not my people. I'm of Hebrew descent. My people live in Israel."
Bach put his fingers to his chin and looked towards the sky. "I once saw a globe of the Earth. I am trying to remember where that is."
"Do you recall Europe, Africa and Asia?" the old man asked. "Israel is a small country close to where those three continents come together."
"Ah. I believe I can picture it. That is a long walk from Australia, –If we could walk on water."
Bernie smiled. "Besides the oceans, there are mountains, deserts and rivers to cross. It would take at least a year to walk there."
"Indeed a long walk."
Bernie returned to the earlier subject. "You said it was not an airplane. Can you tell me what it was, then? What did it look like?"
"I see many airplanes flying over in all shapes and sizes, and it did look somewhat like one but sharper, –pointier. It was silver colored, reflecting light like a mirror or the surface of a still pond, so I am sure it was metal. The sound was like thunder rolling continuously and a sharp whistle came too, rising in pitch. That sound meant it was going faster and faster." Bach looked at the stranger. "Oh, I don't want to forget the fire. There was fire spraying out the back and it left a thin trail of white smoke that disappeared quickly, leaving no trace it had been there."
Bernie reflected on Bach's words. "I see," he said absently.
"You are not English, after all." Bach looked at him. "They would have questioned my word and asked, 'Are you sure?' You just accepted what I said without challenge."
Bernie raised both hands palms upward. "What can I say? I could tell you were certain from the tone of your voice." He paused a moment. "You said you might check with your friend Sully later. Would you mind if I went along? I should warn you that being old, I walk slowly. Hope you can put up with that. —If Sully has anything to add to the story, I'd love to hear it."
"It's a goer, then. No worries. I'm matey with old people's walking." (It's a sure thing. Don't worry; I'm familiar with how old people walk.)
"I believe I almost understood that. Careful or I'll start throwing Yiddish at you."
The man began explaining what Yiddish was, but Bach continued. "The sun's still high, so I'll have a short kip and we can walk over to Sully's place after that."
* * *
"Sully? You home Mate?" Bach yelled as they approached the small shack.
There was no one stirring at Sully's place.
Along the way, Bernie watched patiently as Bach picked some berries, holding them in a fold of his shirt. Walking inside his friend's house he looked for a place to put them. There was a bowl sitting on the small table in the corner he filled with berries, and wrote Sully a quick note. "Berries From Beethoven", it said.
As Bernie looked at it, Bach explained. "Sully discovered classical music a while back and realized that Bach was a famous name in that field. After that, he started calling me by a different composer's name each time he saw me. –Strauss, Mozart, Brahms, Chopin, Vivaldi and so on. He will know it was really me if I put the name of a different musical artist than Bach. In fact, if I did put Bach, he might even suspect it was from someone intending to poison him, and toss the berries in the bin."
"Trusting fellow." Bernie chuckled.
"He can be paranoid. I will admit that." Bach looked around. Spotting what looked like a wooden pallet on the floor, he walked over to it. Holding his hand above it, Bach said, "I think this is the cover over his shaft. I feel cool air."
Bernie eyed it. The cover had a wooden frame with cross-slats, but a wire mesh covered it to keep someone from stepping through and falling down the shaft he knew was below. He tried to lift it but it would not budge.
"Gelar 'Sully' Sullivan! Are you down there Mate? It's Mozart." Bach called, but there was no response.
Bernie noted, "The grate seems to be locked from below. Perhaps he's down there, but sleeping. On the other hand, what if he started down to his underground room and fell, hitting his head?"
Bach glanced at him and nodded. "Possible." He tried to peer down through the grating, but the shaft below was too dark to make out anything.
Bernie added, sounding concerned, "Before we leave, do you think we should make certain he isn't down there?" Bernie then seemed to be talking to himself. "If I were hiding a release lever for this cover up here, I wonder where I would put it?" Bernie walked over by Sully's bed.
Interesting, he thought as he saw what appeared to be buttons and levers around the bed. They were disguised as part of a frame built by someone inept at bed building, but his practiced eye saw them for what they were. Reaching out to touch one of these with a finger, Bernie realized they were meant to be activated by someone lying in the bed. He reached across to one on the far side. With barely any sound, a handle to something popped up into his hand. Raising it, he turned it over to see it better. It was a Sig Sauer P226 pistol with a sonic suppressor from a company called SWR in the USA. What would you be doing in the Australian bush, my little friend? Bernie considered the weapon as he checked that Bach had not seen what happened. He pushed the pistol back into its hiding place with a soft click
"I can't see anything down there," Bach glanced up and said. "Sully. Are you about, Mate?" he yelled, cupping his hand beside his mouth to direct the sound downward.
Bernie considered the other release lever. He was betting there was another pistol on this side as well. When he was sure Bach was again looking away, he positioned his left hand to catch whatever popped up and pressed the release. Prepared as he was, what shot up into his hand stunned him. He thought, YOU shouldn't even be on this planet!
Only the eyes of one who had been off this blue and white world and learned of life beyond, would recognize this weapon for what it was. At the base of the grip were the initials marking it in galactic script as a product of the Skelorian Weapons Works. In his hand was a fully charged Skelorian laser pistol. Nearly everyone 'out there' would agree that this was one of the most accurate and deadly laser pistols in the galaxy, –very hard to find, –and very expensive.
He quickly slid the Skelorian back into its hidden slot between the frame and the mattress and stepped to the foot of the bed, where he had already spotted the release he was looking for. A thin wire attached to that lever hugged the leg of the bed and disappeared into the floor. He said, "Ah, I think I see what we need," to Bach, and made a show of pulling the lever at the foot of the bed. One side of the grating popped up an inch or so. "Yes, that's it."
Bach raised the grating and looked in. "There's a ladder. I'll climb down and see if Sully's down there." He paused a moment and added. "Since Sully doesn't know you, would you mind waiting up here, mate?"
"Not at all. Go ahead.
I'll wait here." Bernie
already had the answer he was seeking. In
his hand, he had, rather unpredictably, held the solution to why he was really there. Sully was the elusive man he was hunting.
Bach disappeared down the shaft, giving Bernie a chance to look around more fully. From his vantage point by the bed, he spotted several things that looked out of the ordinary for a simple aboriginal shack. What looked like a hand hewn cabinet held various items including food, a wooden spear thrower of Kandiwal wood and an eating knife. Those were fine. The odd part was that the sides of the cabinet were large blocks of wood several inches thick, which Bernie could see were not solid at all and provided space to hide things. Once he figured out how to open them, he found that one end held a new ACR general-purpose assault weapon, a few fragmentation and smoke grenades, several cartons of ammunition, and an M320 launcher for US 'smart' grenades. The other end held a Klai'trk'ha plasma rifle with recharge canisters, and a Barrett fifty-caliber sniper rifle with a very special day/night scope.
Following his earlier discovery of the Skelorian
laser pistol, any new items he discovered no longer surprised Bernie. He mused, If there is such an arsenal up
here, I wonder what Bach is seeing in the room below? The sounds of someone ascending the ladder
echoed upward. Making a quick scan to be
certain he'd left everything as it was earlier, Bernie sat on a
rough-hewn wooden chair.
When Bach appeared, he looked thoughtful. "Sully's not down there," he said.
"Something wrong?" Bernie asked, trying to sound casual.
Bach looked at him. "No worries, mate. Nothing wrong..." After a brief pause to close the wooden hatch, he added, "...just some things I didn't expect. In all the years since we came back from Coober Peddy, I've never been down there before today. I guess I could say he must have a lot more money tucked away than I suspected."
"Oh?" Bernie prompted.
"Yeah, well, for one thing, there is more than one room down there, and all of them have very nice furnishings, –the sort you'd find in a governor's mansion –nothing bodgy[2]. It cost big bikkies[3]. There is electric lighting, so he must have a generator somewhere. There are no power lines in this part of the territory. He has nice paintings on the walls and sculptures sitting about. One room is an art studio and another holds a nicely equipped machine shop."
Bernie took this news in and said, "He must be a private sort who doesn't want people to know he's got money. You know Vivaldi, I think we ought to leave and not tell Sully that we know about that stuff, unless he mentions it himself. What do you think?"
Bach thought it over. "Right, Mate. Prob'ly throw a wobbly[4] if he thought I was spying on him. —All this time, I'm thinking he hasn't a brass razoo[5], —Lucky bastard. Let's go."
