“What I’d like to know is why they have those suit things. What was wrong with controllers? When I was a lad we played sensibly. None of this mind-altering bull.”
—le Pinacle
…very slowly and carefully. Do not make any incautious moves.
A voice was speaking to me. Through my dream. An irritation as that dream currently featured a hot Antoine Callale and a very large pile of decadent chocolates. Of course the man would have to go. His body heat was melting the chocolate and making it all sweaty.
As I was pondering how to get the naked man to remove his goods from the goodies, I heard the voice again:
I don’t think she’s aggressive, but I also don’t think you should startle her. She is…formidable.
I blinked my eyes open, confusion and the sudden advent of daylight making them temporarily useless.
There you are. Do you know how long I’ve been calling? Bert asked huffily. A human brain has a very real need for an automated message service.
What…?
You have a visitor. And have had one since the early hours of last night.
I stirred, beginning to push myself upright.
Caaarefully. Or your visitor may forget the rules of etiquette governing house calls.
I slowed, turned my head and body slightly, and found, perched on the log and facing me, the unmistakable form of a gorilla. Large, black, and potbellied, with an underslung jaw and short, permanently bent legs. She was a feminine version of the only example I’d ever seen outside of ancient documentaries: vid Goliath, King Kong.
A feeling of awe entered the terror that had immediately spurted through me, and grew stronger as she continued to sit patiently, watching me without moving.
Through eyes that conveyed a lifetime of sadness.
In the real world gorilla are precious rarities, living only in zoos and private wildlife parks. And they spark much-publicised bidding wars when one becomes available for sale. Animal protection groups have attempted to regulate these auctions, but with individuals reaching up to twenty million dollars, they have very little real impact.
Even governments, the only organisations that have the capacity to make a difference, are only interested in animals endemic to their own country, and the Congo Republic and its neighbour, Uganda, didn’t have the power or influence to put pressure on foreign traders. Especially given that the vast majority of gorilla births now occur outside of their native country.
Not that these gorilla are physically abused in any way. Animals rights legislation makes that distinction clear. The basic principles of the supply of food, water, medical attention, and space to move around are a matter of law that has worldwide support. That did not, however, extend to such liberties as the freedom of body, will, or social interaction. A difference that any prisoner of war would understand all too clearly.
Her name is Alisette.
She has a name? I eased myself into a sitting position facing her. My head proved to be on a level with her nipple area (no pasties apparently required), and I had to crane my neck to keep eye contact.
This construct was based on a real gorilla that was housed at the North Australian Wildlife Complex twelve years ago. She was originally part of an extensive family group that was gradually sold off as and when the organisation needed money to pay off debt. By the time the programmer in charge of the Congo’s creation devised the idea of visiting the complex for research, Alisette was the last of her kind left in the habitat.
Why her?
She was infertile, which consequently affected her value. As to why they kept her, I can only surmise that the complex decided that the lure of having a gorilla for display and advertising purposes offset the cost of her maintenance.
How do you know all this?
The programmer’s study proved disturbingly effective. During his visits to Alisette, he developed a bond that the authorities later concluded ‘addled his brain’. Bert paused before continuing dubiously. Though I’m not sure they were consulting psychologists when making that particular diagnosis. Anyway, one night he was discovered attempting to break in to the gorilla habitat.
Okay, I’m feeling the crazy. I’m guessing the media got involved?
Indeed. They reported the details most assiduously.
I’ll just bet they did. Nothing quite catches the public’s attention like people doing dangerous shit.
Speaking of.… A movement at lap level caught my own attention. Her hand, as big around as my head, had turned and curled upwards, lifting in supplication towards me.
“Um. Hi, Alisette.” I smiled a closed-mouth smile (do gorillas regard bared teeth as a threat?) and gave a brief wave. Definitely wasn’t offering my hand to shake. It might just get shaken right off.
Her brows rose a little in recognition. She waved back, then pressed her hand against the air in front of her in clear mimicry of encountering a glass wall, and spread her fingers slightly.
Oh, damn. Now that was too much. That poor girl. Abandoned by everyone she knew and then relying on humans for social crumbs. She’d obviously been struggling to make contact even within the limits imposed on her by her surroundings.
A lump formed in my throat, and I could no more have resisted mirroring her hand with my own than I could have kicked Gunga.
I don’t advise—
Shut up, Bert.
Our hands hovered there, almost touching, for a time not measured by a clock. I fell into her eyes like I was hypnotised; the sadness and loneliness a pool that I could have drowned in.
I only realised how close we’d become when her fingers touched mine, the rough leathery feel startling my brain back into cogency. I blinked, and so did she.
Is this what that programmer wanted? To give her the connection that was denied her?
“I’m here,” I told her, pressing my hand firmly enough against hers that our palms made contact.
It didn’t last long. The thud of a stone hitting her on the shoulder soon broke our communion. Within a split second, she’d pushed herself off the log and confronted the forest where the missile had come from, canines bared in a snarl that should have frightened anyone into fleeing—man and beast both.
But it seemed man’s closest relative was made of sterner stuff. Though they were showing it in our least admirable manner. Screeching from the treetops and flinging projectiles that they’d obviously brought especially for the occasion were chimpanzees. Irate chimpanzees. Clustered en masse like fans in a sports stand disagreeing with an umpire.
I had no idea why they were so angry. Were we trespassing on their territory? Sitting on their own private tree trunk? Thinking too loudly? Or was it a mixture of all three?
It was definitely in the plural, because they weren’t limiting themselves to the large target offered by Alisette. Some of the oversized delinquents were deliberately aiming in my direction. The third rock to be thrown hit me on the hip.
The gorilla moved to block their efforts after the first successful strike, placing herself in the path of others in order to smack these aside. Protecting me.
And I was stupidly making her sacrifice necessary by not moving. As soon as the thought occurred I took action, ducking under the partial protection of my former bedroom. My brains were so scattered that I gave little consideration to bringing out my lyre. Besides, most of my active skills had the potential to affect Alisette, and the one that didn’t was useless against groups.
So I cowered for painful seconds as my brain struggled through panic.
There has to be something I can do. My breath caught as another rock hit Alisette in the thigh, making her stumble.
A new worry abruptly came to mind as I remembered Gunga, sleeping soundly in the nest above me. Why is she not waking up? The noise of the chimpanzees was deafening. Far too loud for anything to remain asleep. Had she been hit?
I turned off her consciousness while you were communicating with Alisette. It seemed unwise to let her natural protective instincts override what little common sense she possesses. And the chimpanzees do not appear to regard her as an enemy.
He was right. Through the branches, I could see there was a clear demarcation between us. Stones in my immediate area, but none littering the far side of the nest where she slept. So she was probably safe.
She is also not of any immediate use in this battle. Bert’s voice grew sad. And neither am I.
“You can at least give me some bloody suggestions.”
A rock bowled past Alisette with the skill of a top-class cricketer, and hit my temple.
-10 Hit pts! 740 remaining!
Ow. I reached up to feel the bruise, and instead came away with fingers wet with blood.
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Bloody hell. These chimps weren’t mucking around. Their pissiness was out of all propor—
And I suddenly remembered the whistle. Tucked in my top pocket for just such an emergency. How I’d forgotten it was a mystery that made me again question my mental state. Was dehydration affecting my cognitive thought?
The spout caught on the underseam of material at the pocket’s top edge, but it was no match for a strength lent by frustrated panic. It ripped and turned inside out under the force until I finally had the whistle in my hands, and I wasted no more time in blowing it.
A melodious trill sounded through the shrieking snd hooting of agitated primates. Good. I’d managed to find the first note.
But the expected Snow White moment did not come to pass. Indeed, if anything, the chimps got angrier, and their hostile attentions became no longer divided between Alisette and I.
I was now the sole beneficiary.
And Alisette didn’t look too happy with me, either. She turned her head, frowning heavily in my direction. When two projectiles launched simultaneously, it was with trepidation that I watched her decide whether I was worth the pain. Only at the last moment did she launch herself into the sky, catching one rock and using it to smash the other away.
I began to breathe again. Alisette was still on my side.
But my relief proved premature. The artillery barrage became such that it wasn’t just my protector that took hits; the tree above me was covered in gouges—like hesitation marks made by the most incompetent woodcutter ever to wield an axe—and my own health points drained as the remainder landed on their intended target. Stone after stone. Hit point after hit point.
It was only then that I felt something moving beneath me. A rhythmic vibration. At first, I thought it was maybe a mole, attracted by the whistle’s lure, come to express its undying love and affection. But it grew into the unmistakable sensation of giant footsteps, reminiscent of Jurassic Park and its legion of CGI’d spin-offs.
Though the trumpeting was new.
When the elephant finally broke through the trees, ears expanded to their fullest and trunk raised in aggression, I had finally decided on the course of action I was going to take. An action that, unfortunately, was made from a position of little intel. Consequently, I was standing stupidly in its path, lyre raised and mouth open, with a song in my lungs completely unrelated to my original choice. (It went something like ‘Aaaaaaargh’—original composer unknown.) I had wrongly estimated where it was going to emerge, and was about to discover what it felt like to be trampled by the biggest land mammal on earth.
Only to be folded over an enormous hairy arm like a waiter’s napkin. Whereupon things get a little muddled. A rushing green blur, a bouncing jostle, and a struggle to breathe as my ribs were compressed into my diaphragm; those were my only recollections of that horrible desperate rush.
When we finally stopped moving and my body was laid out on the ground, I didn’t know whether I wanted to throw up or scream. So I did the only thing I was actually capable of: I sucked in breath and used it to feed myself oxygen.
Ah, god. Bliss.
I didn’t get to enjoy it long before Alisette picked me up by the scruff and dangled me midair. The buttons in my undershirt popped under the strain, though my tabard was more resistant. It simply used the opportunity to try to strangle me. Air was becoming a resource that I had heretofore failed to adequately appreciate.
The gorilla shoved my struggling body forward and grunted. It almost sounded like: Look. Or maybe: Go. Definitely a directive.
She dumped me abruptly, making me wince as the ground struck some of the wounds from the stoning that were still smarting. The impact even caused a drop of red to fall from the wound my head and land next to my left thumb.
Bloody, bloody hell.
So when leathery fingers reached down and grabbed my arm I flinched.
And the grip softened.
Looking up, I saw that Alisette’s anger had dissipated, replaced by a kind of regret. Her eyes dipped to her hand, and she let it slide gently down my arm from elbow to wrist. Then, before I could respond, she lifted it towards her and pressed her other hand to mine in a forced reenactment of our earlier gesture. My own hand contracted reflexively.
She heaved a sigh and released my wrist, using her free hand to pat my head. Then she took both her hands away and sat heavily beside me, leaning ever so slightly against my shoulder, the rough hair on her arms audibly brushing across my sleeve.
We sat there in silence for a few moments, like two friends making up after an argument. I just wished I could supply ice cream as a peace offering.
(Mmm, ice cream.…Ice cream would definitely make this whole experience so much better.)
“I’m sorry,” I said finally, though I wasn’t too sure what I was apologising for. I knew, however, that it had something to do with that damn whistle. Its loving mojo had seriously backfired. Why, I had no idea. Maybe it didn’t work on animals over a certain intelligence threshold? Regardless, I was glad I’d dropped the cursed thing somewhere along the cartage route—the jostling having dislodged it right out of my already compromised pocket.
The lyre was the only instrument I was relieved to still find myself in possession of. That I understood. That didn’t give me the heebie-jeebies. My wrist had been wrenched, and I could feel sore spots all along my arm, but the safety strap had done its job.
A finger tapped at the lyre’s soundbox, then Alisette’s hand flattened and touched her chin. And back again.
I wasn’t sure, but it seemed to involve my lyre. Did she want to play it?
I removed the strap and handed it to her, though not without some apprehension. It had proved durable so far, but I was pretty sure it hadn’t been built to withstand the strength of a curious gorilla.
She gave the instrument no more than a cursory inspection before handing it back to me, raising her hand again to touch her chin.
Seeing my lack of understanding, she tried something different. She laid one arm out flat, and with her other hand in an awkward reverse Spock, swept her middle two fingers across the top of her hand.
Sign language. Alisette was trying to communicate with me in the only way she knew how. Unfortunately I was not so well educated. I shrugged and shook my head in apology.
More sadness from those soulful brown eyes. She buried her face in her arms, curling away from me in a large, furry ball. She looked like one of those soft toys that folded inside themselves.
But finally the higher primate caught on. Or at least I hoped I had. I wondered if her programming admirer had played guitar.
Raising my lyre, I rested it on my lap and plucked its highest note, ‘nete’. One eye emerged from the fuzz.
Encouraged, I shifted the instrument a little and used the callused tip of my thumb to cascade across the strings. Her head slowly rose. Then I gently began to play. And seconds later, to sing.
“Soft shades circling, around a lake of blue
“Reds fade to pink, among the flowers too.
“Black absorbs the light, of leaves inside the grove
“But the sun provides the bright, against a canopy of love.
“What more can we need, but this world of blue
“Nature’s fresh blessing, in this world of hue.”
No skills, no intentions beyond making myself and my solitary listener feel better. It was actually quite refreshing, playing for enjoyment’s sake. I needed to do it more often.
And this old ballad was one of my favourites—light and simple, but with a hopeful tone that exactly matched the lyrics. There was a reason why conservation groups had adopted it was their own theme song. Hope breeds action rather than resignation.
“What more can we need, but this world of bluuue.”
My fingers trailed off the strings, still tingling from the pressure, and thanked again the game’s creators for making bare-handed plucking and strumming possible. In real life, your fingers would be burning, not tingling. Even in the early days of its creation, most musicians used picks when playing the lyre. But I felt somehow more connected to an instrument if I had direct contact with it, so the game gifted me access to that conceit.
Alisette certainly seemed to like the song, though I doubted that had anything to do with my refusal to use a pick. She looked brighter somehow, less anchored in gloom.
It’s always good to have an appreciative audience, I thought happily. Though I became less happy when she rose to her feet and hauled me upwards, making me clutch the lyre tightly. Several patches of unhappiness made themselves known as muscles that had stiffened were stretched with the movement.
I baulked when Alisette looked ready to flop me over her arm again. I made negative motions with my free hand and shook my head adamantly. No! No flippy-floppy stomach-wrenching amusement park ride. No thank you.
She accepted my refusal with good grace, examining me as if memorising my features. Then one hand raised and bent in a message that even my dim-witted understanding couldn’t mistake: Goodbye.
And bending over onto all four limbs, she knuckle-lurched back the way we had come, stopping once to stand and look back before disappearing into the thickest part of the forest.
Hidden Quest: Beecham’s Folly Completed!
Congratulations! By showing Compassion and Courage You have fulfilled the Special Requirements to be considered a Hero to all Greater and Lesser Primates!
Double Dutch Passive Effect Awarded! +100% to all XP bonuses achieved through Non-Violent means!
+1 to Courage!
+1 to Wisdom!
1000 (+1000) XP!
Awarded: 2 Bug Deterrent Potions!
I must admit to feeling a little gutted by Alisette’s departure. And yet privileged. Both at the same time. It’s not every day you get to meet an icon—even if some of that interaction had involved the smelly end of a hairy arm. It had been a rare moment that I would treasure forever.
(Note: The communication—not the armpit.)
I wanted to know what had happened to the real Alisette, whether she remained alone in her enclosure. If she had found other humans to fill the social void. But first, I had to resolve my own entrapment.
Looking around me, I realised that the location Alisette had led/abducted me was less cluttered than where I had camped. The trees here were more spaced out—an indication that I was now on the edges of the forest. She had not been heading towards her lair, as I had wildly speculated while being held over her arm, but instead to a safe exit.
The thought of safety brought with it visions of Gunga and where she might have ended up. I trusted Bert to do all he could to protect her, but she was a bird built for the open plains. Not the obstruction-filled dangers of a rainforest.
I summoned her, expecting a speedy appearance, and got it. What I didn’t count on was the small (lvl 5) chimpanzee clinging to her back.
Luckily, it seemed more shocked by the sudden teleportation than I was. It eeped in fear and slid off Gunga, calling fretfully as it loped as fast as it could toward the densest patch of forest. As I watched, it shot up a tall tree and swayed for a few moments, balancing in a bent starfish stance, before leaping across to another tree’s branches and disappearing from sight.
Gunga grumble-rattled in relief and trotted over to me, her beak agape in exhaustion.
“What have you been doing to yourself?” I cooed, while raising one hand to scritch the fluff at the top of her head. Her eyes closed in pleasure, and she leaned into my fingers, one wing shivering sympathetically.
When you…left…the larger adults chased after you. The juveniles were more inclined to examine Gunga, rather than follow their elders, and hence we departed at speed. Unfortunately, it seems chimpanzees are faster in the trees than ostriches are on wooded ground, and one managed to jump onto Gunga’s back. The rest you know.
“I don’t like this shit. Especially if I’m heading into Egypt.” I considered, my hand pausing momentarily. “Can you keep Gunga from following me?”
It is possible. By altering the parameters of the code that controls the bond, I could remove her inclination to follow.
“Good. I want you to keep her here until I can find a safe place to summon her.”
I don’t think that is a good idea. I am one of your greatest assets. To leave me behind…
“I’m not risking Gunga’s life.”
I am close to a radical level up which promises several significant skills. Please trust me to protect her.
“I do trust you; I just don’t trust the NPCs I’m going to be running into. I doubt ostriches were common in ancient Egypt. And appearing with one in tow would make us all too noticeable.”
Bert hesitated, before continuing uncertainly, I could join you in my core form…
“And abandon Gunga? No. Without you she’s helpless. You need to trust me to keep myself safe.”
I gave Gunga one final pat and raised the lyre still clutched in my left hand, briefly stopping to brush downy fluff off my right. No wonder she’d been so enthused about the scritching. Then I activated my Wings ability, stumbling slightly at the abrupt addition of three metre wings.
What if I told you that one of my new abilities would allow you to take Gunga with you?
“I would question your sudden forthcomingness.”
Just give us one more summons before you get to Egypt. That’s all I ask.
“Fine. But take care of her. No more bites, scratches, or primate jockeys.”
Trust me.
——
While moving along the path of the gorilla’s flight, a small figure stooped to pick something off the ground.
Holding it up to her face she scrutinised the object, noting the lines and holes that indicated it was man-made.
She licked and tapped it.
Hollow. Not-tasty.
Finally satisfied that it was useless, she threw it aside. Mid-flight, air funnelled through the spout and caused it to make a slight whistling sound.
Her spiked head tipped curiously.
And, two hours later, the history of the Congo changed.