The Old Way Forward
In a future where technology has mostly replaced nature, a teenager must decide whether or not to continue the mysterious work that his clan has overseen for generations.
“Kaheka Red Eagle, please wear your b-suit on your trip to the outer rim today.”
“Uh huh, thanks DISK.”
The window shades rise, revealing a large, twisting tree-like structure, complete with a synthetic canopy. The dwellings are next to tracks for loop pods carrying people up, down, and across the city’s branches.
“Kaheka, you’re going to be late!” his mother shouts on the intercom.
Kaheka puts on a bio protection suit that starts at his ankles, hugs his waist and chest, and stops at his neck. He tightens the clasp, and it turns transparent.
Kaheka stares into the mirror. “Back to my awkward self.”
Mom shouts as he descends the stairs, “Hurry, or you will be late to see your auntie on your big day!”
It is indeed a big day, a day when Kaheka will miss the digistreams with friends as they fritter away the last summer of their youth. Kaheka is greeted with the viewscreen when he sits at the kitchen table.
“And so, the nanbots will build a forest?”
On the screen, a woman in a green vest leans closer to a middle-aged man in a black turtleneck.
“That’s right Prala, the nanbots are the answer to our ability to expand outside the safe zones. We give each bot group the blueprint of the ideal tree and they will get to work!”
He grins, turning towards the camera.
“Fantastic, Dr. Lightfoot! Nation Group is again leading the recovery effort with this amazing new tech.”
Mom shuts off the viewscreen. Sprinting around the kitchen, she grabs a small lunch box and adds a few sprinkles of something.
“I am adding dry seaweed and a hard-boiled egg. The egg is an improved formula, and they lifted the ration on paprika,” she smiles at Kaheka seeking affirmation of such good fortune.
Kaheka stares back past his mom into the plane of indifference.
“You need to eat on your trip,” she says.
“Do I have to do this? I am top of my class in blockchain systems and particle theory!” —he points his index finger in the air—“I want to work on nanbots and really make a difference.”—he bangs his fist on the table—“That research center has done nothing for the community in decades. It’s old and weird. I'm not joining that cult!”
Mom’s eyes narrow, her lips pressed. “It is an honor and a decision you need to think about. The Red Eagle Clan will not be disgraced!”
“What about cousins Ray and Cecilia? They went to the research center and said ‘no thanks’ after that summer internship. Now they both work at Nation Group. Probably working on nanbots.” Kaheka’s voice trails as the frustration weighs him down.
Everything is about protecting family honor, he thinks, can’t we just fix the problem already? Research on the past is slow. Nanbots are the future. Kaheka smiles, envisioning his first day at Nation Group working on nanbots.
Mom is silent, the sort of silence that bludgeons you with guilt. Kaheka knows that after this weekend he will need to choose either to pursue the clan’s responsibility to preserve the old ways or to be normal and try to work at Nation Group.
“It is an honor and a decision you need to think about. The Red Eagle Clan will not be disgraced!”
Kaheka sighs as his toast slides onto his plate from the hearth.Home. Its breadloaf-shaped opening slowly shuts, gears cranking and receding into the kitchen wall.
“Hi Kaheka, the air quality is orange for your trip to the outer rim today.” hearth.Home shows an orange circle on the kitchen screen. “I have included two magnesium and transmitifier tablets with your toast this morning. Don’t forget to set your b-suit to high protection.”
Kaheka slumps his shoulders and shakes his head, can’t the computers communicate with each other and stop the repetitive reminders? Maybe there is a benefit to going back in time at the research center.
The two enter a brown and green pod and speed down a cylindrical track.
Mom says, “I won't take contamination sickness as an excuse for leaving early.”
The pod to the Tube station is filled with a deafening silence.
Kaheka exits the pod for the ecotransit tube to head to “Last Stop: Outer Rim Depot.”
“Just give it a serious think before you dismiss this opportunity, someone from our clan needs to step up, right?”
He knows he is the last of the Red Eagle Clan to come of age, and without authorization to have children before 30, there may be no one left to continue whatever they work on at the research center. Kaheka nods and waves to his mom, turning towards the Tube shuttle, heavy with the burden of his family’s expectations. He inserts the earsync for his Dynamic Relay Unified Mate, or DRUM, into his ear. “Well DRUM, it's just you and me.”
The tube to the outer rim is above ground and transparent. Kaheka sits at an open window seat and peers into the vast expanse. The canopy of the city fades into a dry desert with pinks and oranges across the expanse. Kaheka tries to flip on his friends’ streams. Kanto is unwrapping his new PX4 Simulator Helmet, probably going to play HaloBoat Racer, and Mira is giving a presentation on algae oxygen conversion, probably has an internship lined up at Nation Group. The quality degrades, transforming their faces into pixelated Picassos. He decides it’s not worth his time. Kaheka digs into his packsack. He devours the lunchbox contents, with just a few crumbs left as evidence of his mother’s skill and love.
The stop arrives sooner than expected, and Kaheka is at the Outer Rim station, unsure of what he will find next.
“Beep! The toxins are at an acceptable concentration,” says a voice coming from a sphere perched on a thin pole near the edge of the station platform.
“Thanks, SHUMA,” Kaheka says.
“You are very welcome. Systematic Human Universal Monitoring Analytics thanks you for your rating. Would you like to take a survey?”
Kaheka waves a hand at the sphere. Each station has one of these. Since the last couple of updates, it has also started sending a sync request with your own assistant, as long as it runs on the same blockchain-based network.
“Would you like to sync with SHUMA, Kaheka?” DRUM could have figured out what Kaheka would say, but protocols are protocols.
“Decline, DRUM. we synced everything we needed for our trip to the Wazashe Research Center last night.”
“That is correct,” DRUM replied, “sometimes I wonder if you need a digital companion at all.”
“Don’t say that, DRUM, you are my best friend!”
“That is very kind, I will update the definition of best friend to include digital companions.”
Kaheka nods with a smirk smeared across his face. Time to get on the road.
He begins the trek to Wazashe Research Center. A bright pink flower blooming in the desert sand catches his attention.
“DRUM sync this picture to my stream,” Kaheka leans forward adjusting a small dial on his earpiece linked to his AR contact lenses.
“I am sorry, Kaheka, we cannot get a strong enough signal for a photo uplink.”
“Ugg, this weekend is going to suck fumes! Maybe we can leave early.”
“I will also need to find a power source once we arrive. There are no wireless charging fields in the vicinity,” DRUM says.
Kaheka knows that after this weekend he will need to choose either to pursue the clan’s responsibility to preserve the old ways or to be normal and try to work at Nation Group.
Kaheka releases his breath, expelling his annoyance. The road, if you can call it one, is a mix of rock and dried mud. Each step cracks as Kaheka makes his own path towards a largish shadow that breaks the otherwise pristine horizon. A rounded hump, blurry in the heat and blistering sands, greets Kaheka through a mess of shrubs. Behind the hump is a great grassland with something darker and denser, too far to perceive.
“DRUM, is this actually the Wazashe research center?”
“Correct, this center was founded in 2070 after the Great Awakening. Would you like to know more?”
Kaheka doesn’t answer. His teachers and parents had pounded history into his brain at school and at the dinner table. The Great Awakening story was pretty clear, there was a monumental failure to reduce rising temperatures and seas. The soils lacked nutrients, and water was scarce. They panicked. Mass migrations from the severe zones toppled governments and societies. Necessity became the mother of invention. They implemented fresh ways and collaborative strategies, and it worked. Pretty elementary stuff.
The research center looks like it is made of earth with plant fibers spilling off the roof, resembling a museum display of the ancient structures post-Awakening.
“Welcome, young lad!”
Kaheka’s heart skips, and he plants his weight firmly on his back foot.
“Sorry to startle you,” says an angular face with cheerful light eyes surrounded by wrinkled patterns like the cracks in the dirt on the road to the research center.
“My name is Clarence, and you must be Kaheka.”
Kaheka nods, still in shock that a human greeted him at the door. A human with no signs of a b-suit or breathing apparatus but wearing a tunic with faded blues and reds of various geometric patterns, some sort of frayed fibers at the ends. Maybe his b-suit is transparent. Though DRUM’s scan can detect nothing.
“You can enter that room over there,” says Clarence, pointing a long, bony finger toward a curtain with zig-zag patterns of red and orange against a black backdrop. “Please remove and leave your bio protection suit on the bench, it will be tended to later.”
In the bright light of the single pendulum bulb, Kaheka notices that the earthen floor is uneven with natural slopes like the desert itself. There are no decontamination nozzles and no requests for DRUM to sync.
“This is strange, DRUM. There are no syncing requests for location and contaminant information. Are you able to detect a local network?”
“Yes, but it is encrypted. It appears that it does not want to share.”
Some clothes lie folded on a wood bench. They look much different from his bodysuit. He unzips the transparent gloves of the suit and presses the clothing with the tips of his fingers. It is coarse, but also soft in parts. He can perceive the fibers of the taupe shirt, so strange compared to his own rubbery b-suit. And the pants, more fibers. Kaheka acknowledges to himself a sense of connection with this clothing.
“There is a belt on the ladder. I wouldn't want you to drop pants in front of Dr. Red Eagle now. That might have flown when you visited your aunt as a child but not any more…” He chuckles and points at the belt.
Kaheka ties the belt around the pants and shirt. He leaves his b-suit on the bench.
“I don’t detect an excess of contamination, but without syncing, the results are imperfect.”
“It’s okay, DRUM, something is different here, and if we can connect to the encrypted network, we might get the answers.”
Kaheka nods, still in shock that a human greeted him at the door. A human with no signs of a b-suit or breathing apparatus…
The two proceed down a staircase that echoes with a metallic clink. Dim lights illuminate the edge of each step.
“Welcome, Dr. Clarence Revoir, would you like to enact guest protocol?” The voice is coming from a single LED and camera lens.
“Yes, thanks.”
“Kaheka, we will have you step through the screening unit to your right,” Clarence says.
The familiar protocols put Kaheka at ease, like washing hands before dinner. A ping emits from the machine, and a red LED strip flashes followed by a low hum. Kaheka closes his eyes as the UV light pours over his body. Another ping, and a flashing green light allows Kaheka to proceed forward.
“We try to use as little modern technology as practical, but the work is too important to ruin with foreign contaminants.” Clarence looks down at Kaheka.
Kaheka nods back in agreement. He is not sure what to expect. The rumors and pieces of information he received from his cousins led Kaheka to believe the Center is an archive rather than advancing new tech.
Two glass doors hiss with compressed air and open to a blend of natural aesthetics and modern wizardry. Large cauldrons are bubbling, surrounded by corn stalks and leafy plants. The air smells of herbs and sugar. An array of computer servers and monitors lines a curved wall.
“I am detecting a suitable power source and docking station to your right at about 24 meters. May I suggest a recharge, Kaheka?”
“Clarence, my DRUM needs a recharge. May I connect it to the port over there?”
“Certainly,” Clarence says.
Kaheka nods and walks through the thick air enveloped in a foggy stew. Kaheka removes his earpiece, contact lenses, and armband processing unit. He always feels naked removing the strap and electrode from his forearm. With the care of a father towards his infant child, he places DRUM next to the charge port and it attaches with a low hum and a click through a magnetic lock. The single LED pulses red. Kaheka puts the earpiece and contact lens into their storage containers, placing them back into his pants pocket. This is much more cumbersome than wireless charging at home.
“Well, well, well, you have arrived at last.”
Kaheka turns around. Standing before him is a large woman wearing a white linen coat that stops at her knees. Underneath are beads and a ribbon work shirt of bright blues and reds. Her boots are caked with mud as is her left cheek, the wrinkles of wisdom framing her youthful, energetic mocha eyes.
Kaheka, caught by surprise, stays quiet.
“Well, Clarence, it looks like we have properly scared this one. Oh, Great Spirit, will we ever find a replacement that can form a sentence?!” She breaks into a wide grin and Clarence roars with laughter.
“Quite right, Mary, we do too much talking already!” Clarence says.
“Nephew, I haven’t seen you since you were a little ankle biter. You sure have grown up!” Mary Red Eagle says.
Kaheka is flush with embarrassment.
“Maybe this was a mistake. I was expecting a research lab, but this seems more like a museum and an underground jungle,” Kaheka says.
The two stop their laughter, and Mary’s eyes narrow. “You judge too quickly, Kaheka, and you mistake our pleasant natures for incompetence. You see Clarence, this is what the modern world has done to these children. Too quick to judge and not enough time spent in thought.”
Clarence nods with a solemn reverence and eyes closed.
“There is a Tube at noon tomorrow to take you back home if you are intent on leaving. Until then, I believe you owe it to yourself to listen, think, and understand what we do here.”
Kaheka thinks of home, the streams, his friends, his nagging mother. Something whispers to him in the deep recesses of his mind. She is right.
“Fair enough, as long as you let my mother know that I tried, I think I can make it until tomorrow.”
“Excellent, I have one more request.”
Kaheka sighs and tilts his head, “Yes?”
“Please leave your computer assistant on the charge port until you leave.”
Kaheka rubs his arm where the band used to be. It feels like a piece of him is missing. This is ridiculous! His mother’s stern stare flashes in his mind. It is only for 18 hours. His hands curl into fists tied at his sides.
“Fine, just keep it safe.”
Clarence chuckles, “There is no one else for many miles and to get down here would be quite a feat.”
Kaheka finds himself feeling both reassured and anxious at the prospect of being so disconnected from civilization.
They enter a dimly lit chamber, where large designs of triangles, zigzags, eagles, and turtles are painted on the walls. Mary stretches out her hands, motioning to something at the center of the chamber.
“The beating drum is the beat of a heart, not just your heart or my heart, but the heart of all.”
The drum is lit by a spotlight and is at least four meters across. Human figures—dressed in buckskin, beads of many colors, and feathers on their heads—sit around it.
“I thought you said there were no others around?” Kaheka looks at Clarence with one eyebrow raised.
“There isn’t. Look again, lad, those are holograms.”
Kaheka looks closer and sees the translucency in their skin.
“These are the drum keepers. I worked on this project as a young girl with my auntie. We took video, audio, and image files and recreated the drum circle you see here.”
She walks to a small computer near the entrance and with a couple of keystrokes the holograms shift and the thud of the drum emits from the center of the chamber.
Thud, thud, thud! Followed by faster and lighter strikes to the drum. Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap. Then thud, thud, thud. Kaheka can feel his heart sync to the rhythm much like DRUM to a new network.
Then a high-pitched yelling becomes lyrical, though the language is not familiar to Kaheka. The drum continues and he becomes entranced. His body and mind melt into the rhythmic pool that fills the room. He is no longer himself, but everyone that has ever been and ever will be. A male voice sings, “Hey, hey, hey, heya!” And the drums shift to six hard thuds in a row and cease.
A voice within greets him: Welcome home, listen well.
Kaheka stands in silence. The chamber reverberates echoes of the drum.
“You felt it, I can see it in your eyes,” Mary says.
Kaheka nods and realizes his mouth is still hanging open. He never heard or felt a drum such as that.
“What were they singing?” Kaheka says.
“It’s not singing; it’s prayer. Life is reverence to all that is around us.” Mary says.
Kaheka knew of reverence as something he was supposed to write on a test when asked of the chief virtues of being a citizen. He never experienced it until now.
“The prayer is mostly lost,” Clarence says, “but it loosely translates into opening the soul to receive.”
“Receive what?” Kaheka says.
“Ah, that was precisely the question I had. I can do more than answer you with words. I can show you!” Mary’s eyes dart; she moves with speed and grace towards another door opposite the chamber entrance.
“It’s a bit of a trek, but if we hurry, we can make it for the sunset.”
The drum continues and he becomes entranced. His body and mind melt into the rhythmic pool that fills the room. He is no longer himself, but everyone that has ever been and ever will be.
LED flashlight in hand, Mary leads. The expedition traverses through a rather narrow, squat tube-like passageway. The ground is rocky in parts and Clarence bends a bit just behind Kaheka, to fit beneath the ceiling of the passage.
Kaheka notices the air getting warmer as the trio traverses an incline towards an opening. He shields his eyes as they emerge from underground. Faint chirping echoes in the distance.
A clearing leading up to a vast forest reveals itself into Kaheka’s view like an ancient developing Polaroid. The sun’s late-day rays blanket the greens, browns, and yellows of the trees. Oh the trees! Too many to see at once.
Kaheka’s eyes scan up, down, left, and right. And different trees at that. “What? How? I mean, this shouldn’t be here.”
Mary just smiles. “This is my life’s work, the life’s work of those before me, and...I hope it will be yours, too.”
“It never gets old,” Clarence says.
Kaheka wants to ask DRUM to analyze. Analyze everything! Instead, he documents every detail with his own eyes, ears and nose.
“This is the original network, Kaheka. We are just scratching the surface on how to communicate with it.”
“I don’t understand,” Kaheka says.
“The drum was the key. Let’s take a bath.” Mary says.
She walks towards the forest. Kaheka glances perplexedly at Clarence.
“Ah, yes, she means a forest bath. Come along. We haven’t much daylight left.”
The forest overloads Kaheka with unfamiliar smells, textures, and noises. The noises! Kaheka listens to a melody of birds and squirrels and unknown animals. The wind rustles the many branches and leaves, adding to the symphony.
Kaheka points at every new creature and plant like a kid at HoloZoo. Clarence nods with a smile as Mary adds more information to Kaheka’s memory banks. Heart beating like the drum in the chamber, Kaheka is awash with nature. He had not expected to find something like this, something more magnificent than the nanbots.
Mary approaches a gargantuan tree surrounded by many saplings. “This is a mighty redwood tree. After the great awakening, there was a race to preserve the few that had survived the long droughts and ferocious fires. This tree is key to the natural network of this forest.”
Mary presses her hand and then her cheek to the bark. “For centuries, we did not listen to the trees and the other natural wonders of our world any longer. We no longer had reverence for others that shared this earth,” she pauses, “we are finding our way back.”
She motions for Kaheka to touch the tree’s bark. He hesitates, his stomach turns. He feels exploration in his veins; this seems silly, touching the tree could be done later. He hears that voice again, pause, do not judge. He walks to the tree and feels the bark’s rough edges and sticky life.
“The drum and the prayers resonate with the trees. Because the trees taught us those prayers.” Mary says.
“But what does that mean? Why are the trees communicating?” Kaheka says.
“Why do we communicate? Why do you communicate with computers? We must work together to thrive. These trees work with fungi under the soil and send messages to other trees. They warn of danger and share resources if one of them is sick. We used the tree’s communication network languages to enhance the technologies you use at home today.”
Kaheka’s eyes widen. He is unable to utter a response. How is any of this related to DRUM or streams or anything back home?
“The original low-power, high-range communication network that allows all your modern devices to talk to each other was based on the algorithms from the trees and our ancestors,” Clarence says. He joins by touching the tree. “We also developed the symbiotic communication protocols for the blue algae in the air purification system you enjoy at home.” He smiles.
“You helped invent that?” Kaheka says.
“I like to think of it as translation. Taking tribal knowledge of old and incorporating it into modern technology. It is a beautiful thing.”
“It's not just the technology that gets translated, but a way of being and sharing this world,” Mary says.
“What about the nanbots, couldn’t you give them the instructions and they could build the forest in no time, probably faster!” Kaheka’s arms stretched forward, and he was high on the tips of his toes.”
“Nanbots are not part of the natural order,” Mary says. “We cannot re-create the forest on our own, we will rely only on ourselves if we do that. That was the path that lead us to near extinction not more than 100 years ago.”
“Quite right Mary. Lad, we must work as part of the system, not outside of it,” Clarence says.
The three return to the clearing as the sun bids farewell to another day.
“So how is the forest free of contamination? And how are we safe too?” Kaheka says.
“Yes, well that is what we are developing an understanding of now. Let’s get back to the center and discuss over a meal.”
Kaheka puts his hand on his stomach. He feels a low rumble at the mention of food. DRUM is not there to remind him to eat.
Kaheka winds up on a folding chair after setting up the table and chairs for the three of them. Mary and Clarence disappear and reappear as they prep dinner.
Kaheka lays his head on the wood table, shifting slightly because of a loose hinge. He rocks with it, and it creaks each time. The beating of the drum looms in his subconscious. The old ways and the new ways, all swirling around his thoughts; nature is solving the problem we created.
Heart beating like the drum in the chamber, Kaheka is awash with nature. He had not expected to find something like this, something more magnificent than the nanbots.
“And dinner is ready!” Mary says. She pushes a cart emanating with a variety of smells. Kaheka recognizes garlic and potatoes, but there are unfamiliar smells as well.
“Before we start, I would like to say a small prayer,” Mary says. Clarence bows his head and Mary closes her eyes and raises her hands towards the ceiling. Kaheka stands with them, eyes closed, and Mary begins, “Oh Creator, we thank you for this food and the company we share it with. Please help us listen and give reverence to your creations. Ho!”
Kaheka opens one eye in an attempt at understanding these strange customs. Clarence is already helping himself to a stew with green, yellow, and red vegetables bathing in a brown broth.
“Let’s eat! Would you like these mushrooms, Kaheka?”
Kaheka nods and continues to nod as Mary adds more and more foreign items to his plate. Kaheka does not question what each item is, but after a few mouthfuls to satisfy his hunger, the flavor demands answers.
“This is amazing, I have never had mushrooms quite like these. Who manufactured them?”
“The forest,” Mary says.
“You mean the forest we just walked around in?”
Mary nods, mouth full.
“Won’t we get sick?” Kaheka imagines his stomach rebelling, and he thinks about where he can purge its contents.
“Don’t worry lad, this is all well below acceptable contamination levels,” Clarence says.
“You mean all of this food is from the forest?”
“Yes, now help yourself to some rabbit. He gave his life to sustain you,” Clarence says, adding more food to Kaheka’s plate.
“This food is healthy because we taught the trees as they were teaching us,” Mary says.
Kaheka looks at Clarence and raises an eyebrow.
“I know it sounds strange, but you have already seen so many new things today, is it really that strange we learn from trees?” Clarence says.
Kaheka nods and looks at his plate with a mix of wonderment and skepticism.
“We used an analysis from the network we created here to develop a language that creates a communication protocol between the trees and our network, similar to how old computers used an API, or application-program interface. As we learned about their past and current needs, we also explained to them the toxic environment and how they could adapt to it. We started with the supernodes, like the redwood tree we touched today, and then they in turn relayed the messages to the rest of their networks. Within five years the forest expanded. We continue to plant and communicate, and the forest has grown one thousand percent over the last three years.”
“And a byproduct of all that healthy growth is that animals and other organisms returned to the forest and flourished,” Clarence says.
“Precisely, Clarence, and that is why it is so important we continue our work.”
Kaheka takes a few more bites. His stomach seems convinced. “How does this relate to the drum and the prayers?”
“The algorithm we used is from those early recordings. Music and language can be reduced to math, and this math opens the door to saving and restoring this planet!” Mary says.
“You keep mentioning that it’s important to continue the work. Why aren’t there more people working on this project?” Kaheka says.
“We used to have many people working here, but sometimes old projects are less appealing than new technology.”
“More like less profitable,” Clarence says. He chomps down hard on an innocent piece of leafy greens.
“Yes, Clarence, there still seems to be greed, even in the awakened world of ours. But we will show our community and Nation Group that this is the way forward,” Mary says. Show this to Nation Group? Kaheka wants to ask more, but the hostile expressions on Mary and Clarence’s faces halt that line of questioning.
The rest of the meal is filled with the sound of chomping and lighter conversation. Kaheka follows Clarence to a small room with a metal frame bed and a desk with a small lamp. “It’s not much, but with that splendid meal I think you will sleep just fine,” Clarence says. He is right. Kaheka drifts into the soundest sleep he has ever had.
Kaheka awakes to the crowing of a rooster. It sounds like the alarm setting he had as a child, but less consistent and more, well, real. Kaheka opens the door and sees Clarence dressed and zipping around the halls. “You’re awake. Sorry about Chester. I should have warned you he likes an early start.”
“Who is Chester?”
“Oh! He is our rooster. We started keeping chickens a couple of years ago. You up for some eggs? All-natural, not lab-grown.”
Kaheka nods.
He eats breakfast alone, after Clarence says that Mary is in the middle of something but will be back before Kaheka needs to leave, if that is what he still wants.
Kaheka shifts in his seat, unsure of what he wants. He has thought little about DRUM since waking up to the rooster call, but he feels like he needs to talk to someone. What about placing at the top of his high school, getting a real summer internship, and being admitted into the best programs back home? Certainly, he can work on this type of thing after that.
After breakfast, he takes a gander at the lab. He stumbles upon a small room full of file cabinets and papers. It looks like something out of a historical documentary. Spurred by curiosity, Kaheka sifts through some papers. Many of them have “Tribal Ecological Knowledge Inc., a subsidiary of Nation Group” at the top. Kaheka looks at some of the older ones first, routine updates to the Nation Group on research, followed by a few memos requesting updates. Then he discovers a couple more about termination of funding. He wonders if maybe this won’t be something he can work on in the future.
“There you are,” Mary says, “I was hoping you hadn’t left early. I wanted to give you something that has been in our clan for a century.” She hands Kaheka a small drum with a small drumstick attached. The drum is no bigger than Kaheka’s hand and a faint red eagle is at the center of the drum.
“Wherever you go, remember the old ways. They can still teach us and guide us forward. Keep this and remember.”
“Thank you. I have lots to think about.”
Mary smiles. She escorts Kaheka back to DRUM. “Safe travels, Kaheka. I hope we meet again”
Mary walks away towards the drum room. Clarence guides Kaheka up and out of the center, through the dusty hut and onto the road. Clarence winks and waives as Kaheka reconnects with DRUM.
“Fully charged. Status is normal. I detect I had an extended rest. How were you during that time?”
Kaheka hangs the drum around his neck with a beaded strap and taps the drum in rhythm with his heartbeat.
“Contamination levels are acceptable. I suggest syncing when we arrive at the Tube station.”
Kaheka stops, he can see the sign of the Tube station, an infinitesimal speck on the distant dusty pink horizon.
“DRUM, I don’t think I am going back. I have another network to explore.”
Photo credit:
“Redwood Tree” by Hitchster, via Flickr