HUNTING WASSELNORF

  HUNTING WASSELNORF 

         The monkeybirds at the window reminded Hadley he was on a foreign planet. He dutifully sent them a few of the green fruits he had saved out the slot he’d made in the screen for that specific purpose. The monkeybirds scooped the fruit up and went off to either eat it at their leisure or else feed to their young. Hadley watched as they sailed away through the white leaves until the vegetation seemingly swallowed them up. Returning to his coffee, he sat, still wondering why the expedition had left SL5 so abruptly, without informing him or asking if he were ready to leave. He had paid to hunt the wasselnorf only, not to emigrate here. The dead wasselnorf was in its case, already loaded for shipment to the museum. So why did they not take him along to deliver it?

          He had no doubts he could survive until a next expedition arrived. Sadly, he had no way of guessing how long it would be. The operational section was securely locked away, leaving no means of communication. Hadley did not relish growing old here. But he must plan for possibly a long interlude. He would set up a routine to keep his health and acuity intact. It also seemed prudent to walk the entire grounds daily for security, although he was unaware of threats from what seemed a docile planet, with no carnivorous animals at all, so the literature read. In fact, SL5 seemed like a park more so than an undeveloped planet.

          There were nutrition pills to see him through for years to come if the food ran out. The cupboard held many tins of coffee, more than one could consume in a lifetime. He toyed with the notion of domesticating a monkeybird for companionship. It might work. The ones he had been seeing appeared somewhat friendly already. Tomorrow, when they came expecting fruit, he would try to coax a few in. He looked around, eager to keep his mind busy. There lay his tablet across the table. 

          It had been Hadley’s intent to study all the literature concerning his wasselnorf during the long journey home. Now, there was ample time to do it here. He opened the tablet to the downloaded information and began to examine the commentary and educational videos. After a time it began to seem unreal, for the presentation featured many unsubstantiated generalities about this supposed native species. Smelling a hoax, he began to read side comments submitted from anonymous sources. A recurrent theme among the comments made the charge that this organization imports its creatures for targeted hunts, that both clients and specimens are then either sold to various museums about the galaxy or, variously, discarded. He finally left off, thoroughly confused. He should prepare for lunch time. 

          There was a sausage stew inside the giant freezer, which he took out and put in the sink to thaw. Then decided it to be a good time to walk the property. As the door closed behind him and he stood smelling the fresh sweet air, he heard a general movement all about the building. He looked around to witness metal shutters coming down to block the doors and windows, making the walls faceless and smooth. Making the building inaccessible to Hadley. He stared hopelessly at the shutter blocking the door through which he had freely passed a minute ago.

          He knew beyond a doubt that every side would be the same, but walked it three times, hoping hopelessly to find a chink in the building’s armor. He would be stuck in the out of doors until the whims of commerce sent a next expedition. Which could be never, since the surveys of SL5 had long since concluded and now they had taken the only locally known wasselnorf away. At age fifty-five, he was hardly a candidate for survival in the rugged outdoors. Before taking on the work for the museum his life was sedentary. It was a solitary existence, minus family, minus a mate, minus a pet even. In a fit of depression, he grew restless and applied to work for the museum. In today’s situation, thus far, he had not succumbed to panic. Perhaps now he had reached an appropriate time to do so. Feeling as though floating in a fog beside his body, he walked the confines of the compound, seeking the odd things that could help him to survive. It was clean, having been meticulously gone over by a crew member the day before, as Hadley now remembered. That meant he would be compelled to make forays into the woods, where he would seek out food and material for a shelter from the elements. It was hoped he would not encounter any hitherto undetected wasselnorfs, for they were huge and strong as several humans at once. He determined to make the most of the remaining daylight. He wished there had been a vessel of any sort for the transport of water, for the site on the stream where he shot the wasselnorf was a fair distance away.  

          The massive gates to the compound were designed to withstand almost any sort of attack. Fortunately, they were manually operated. He was learning to be less trusting and so removed his shirt to stuff in the gate to thwart the locking mechanism, in case it tended to roll back and snap shut. Uncomfortable to be so exposed, his first effort was to pick up something that would replace his shirt in the gate. He was able to separate a suitable limb off a rubbery grey plant, one with leaves resembling octopus tentacles. It was a perfect substitute for the shirt.

          He knew there were plenty of trees with fruits and berries, all within easy range of the base. The trouble with it being, he had no education as to which among them could safely be eaten. The green fruit shared with the monkeybirds was the only one he could be certain of. It hung in great pods where the forest’s general tone of colors shifted from white to mauve, about two miles downstream from where the wasselnorf died. The crew had shown him how to harvest these fruits when they discovered he was slipping them to the wildlife.

          It was a tossup if he should bring back some of the green fruit first or gather tree limbs and branches for his shelter. But appetite demanded and prevailed and he set out to gather some pods. There was in a sheathe a sharp knife, which would be handy for separating the fruit from the trees. During the traipse to the site, it occurred to him that a carefully opened pod could serve as a water bag. Now that there was a plan that could not just save his life but would give him purpose he gained confidence that all would end well.

          Hiking along near the flowing water gave a calming effect. Foreign planets could sometimes harbor the unexpected hazard. Not so, apparently SL5. The only danger he felt he might expect would be if the wasselnorf left a mate bent on vengeance and the expedition chief had assured him this was a solitary specimen for this side of the planet. The occasional mauve leaf signaled the nearness of the groves of targeted fruit. He had learned that monkeybirds love for green fruit began with humans opening up the pods and sharing. They came to love it above all else. He moved through a thicket of white elephant ears looking plants to come out among the green fruit-bearing ones. Hadley was disheartened to discover the pods were mostly beyond their season. He was able to rescue only five decent ones. After cutting them loose with enough stem to hang over his shoulders, he prepared his return to the base. He was set to leave when a honey-sweet smell rushed over him to overwhelm his olfactory nerves. 

          Alarmed by what seemed a targeted action, he looked about for the source. There were no predatory animals, he recalled. But what about carnivorous plants? He could not be sure about those. And then he saw a monkeybird being irresistibly drawn to the source of the odor. It had been aimed at that innocent and not Hadley. He followed just in time to observe the poor creature getting closed inside a cage of rough vegetation and being drawn to the mother plant. He ran forward, knife in hand, to slash at the cage, creating a hole the monkeybird escaped through. The arm of the plant recoiled, drawing away to avoid further damage. The freed monkeybird now was nowhere to be seen. He went on with his task, stepping lively, for there was much to accomplish before darkness sets in.

          At one point Hadley paused for a moment to shift his load. In the process, he chanced to look into the branches of a tree to discover the rescued monkeybird monitoring his progress. He smiled affectionately, shaking a pod. The monkeybird responded with a tiny screech, showing its teeth.

          Once inside the compound, he laid the pods against the fence and made a decision to put together a shelter of some kind before opening one. The next few hours were spent gathering limbs and branches and making a lean-to against the front entrance, the furthest he could get from the landing pad. At this juncture, he was weak from hunger. He sat with the first pod between his legs, carefully cutting around the stem, hoping to preserve it as a vessel to hold water after taking out the fruit. 

          Shortly, a nice pile of green fruit was formed at his side. He looked for the friendly monkeybird in hope of offering it a few. Apparently, it had left off following during the boring episode in which he built his shelter. Hungrily he bit into one, unaware at least a dozen monkeybirds had approached and were looking down from atop the wall.

          Before he knew what was happening they descended to take his fruit. He tried to grab some for himself but they bit and scratched his fingers and wrists until he rolled back to shield himself. One of his ears was painful and bleeding. By the time they flew back over the wall, the entire content of the pod was missing, even the piece he bit into. Disheartened, disappointed, Hadley gave up on eating for the day.

          By now it was dusk. Extremely tired, Hadley finished making his bed and fell back to rest. The temperature was dropping quickly. He was obliged to bury himself in the loose material. After a snug night, he awakened to drips caused by heavy fog. Moisture lay atop his covering and wetted his hair. Hadley arose, hungrier than ever. He hid in the recess of the shelter, facing the wall, to cut into the next pod. Only in this wise was he certain to consume all of the fruit he wanted.

          After, he sat back for a time, his overfull belly making him listless. Still tired. 

          At approximately mid-day Hadley roused himself to go with two empty pods to fetch water. After reaching the stream without incident he moved without delay to secure his water. He ended taking one shoestring and cutting it to have something to bind each pod shut. The other shoestring he also cut in order to tie the tops of his shoes so neither would slip off his feet if he had occasion to run. He found his burden too heavy for such a journey until he devised a travois for it to ride upon. 

          When he returned he found the monkeybirds in and around his shelter. All intently returned his stare. He knew they meant to have his fruit. He yelled and waved his arms to shoo them off, but they merely resettled. After a hopeless standoff that lasted at least an hour, he surrendered. “Okay, then,” he pronounced as he pulled his knife. “You can have it.”

          The monkeybirds made room for him to pass. Hadley pulled the remaining pods into the open and slit their sides. He scattered the fruit by dumping it and slinging the pods in the same motion. Now forgotten by the voracious little shits, he wandered back in the direction of the fruit trees, in hope of discovering more trees with pods a little deeper in. As he went he nursed his resentment toward the company, until now subverted by the struggle toward survival. His failure brought it once again to the fore. The conspiracy comments began taking on importance in his musing, as there appeared to be no rational explanation beyond that. He approached the water for the second time this day and turned along the bank. As he went he heard a melancholy voice from afar. That was an animal crying, he felt certain of it. The voice went silent. Hadley pressed on, still hoping to find another source of green fruit. He had gone a mile or so beyond the original grove when the forest opened up and the stream curved off to join a river. The river had a high bank on his side. As he came near the bank the crying from before was resumed and it was very near. He saw a well-used trail at the base of the tall bank.

          Easing his way around the curve, the mouth of a cave came into view. Just partially inside it, the main bulk of a huge body, cinnamon-colored. The source of the crying. A second wasselnorf. He attempted to back silently away, but something about him alerted the beast to his presence. It grunted in fear as it pulled itself deeper into the recess. Hadley saw his chance to get away and turned to run. His foot slipped off a stone surface and became lodged in a crevice. Frantically, he worked to untie the shoestring in the hope he could slip out of the shoe. The commotion finally drew the wasselnorf from hiding, out of curiosity. 

          Wasselnorf can walk with equal facility on two legs or four. This one stood on two, towering forth to examine Hadley at close range. Hadley felt the eyes of his victim’s mate. Cowering, steeling himself for the worst. She stared at him until he could bear it no longer. “Well. What are you waiting for? Get it over with.”

          The wasselnorf’s demeanor changed with the human’s frantic words. She took one step closer and bent with two paws reaching for him. They squeezed him below the arms, then lifted to pull him upward. He felt a pain in his foot when it came free. Miraculously the scraped foot was not seriously injured. She gently let him down. To his astonishment, the lady wasselnorf turned away. She returned to her cave to collapse once again at the mouth of it to resume her crying.

          Touched to his core, Hadley sought out the beast’s head. He wrapped his arms about her face and hugged her for a long time as her tears flooded over him. 

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           Captain Bark spoke to his fellow crew member, Willie Snark, a crustacean sort of fellow from SN20. “Hadley must have felt abandoned. Marooned and forgotten. Well, it has been just two calendar months. Perhaps he is alive somewhere. A pity he didn’t know the compound is programmed to lock down the minute it becomes unoccupied. Take Clive Hern and Glenn Shaver with you. He was most familiar with the trail leading to the stream north of here. I suggest looking in that direction. Bring him some food. He will appreciate it.” 

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          Hadley could hear the rescue team booming their signals and calling his name throughout the forest. When eventually they approached his lair he stepped out to meet them. He recognized Willie Snark. He pointedly avoided Snark‘s outstretched hand. “Willie? Why did you leave me alone here? I could have died with no training and no warning.”

          Willie‘s eyestalks went waving wildly. “Please, Hadley; let me explain. We responded to an emergency on board the mother ship. We left so hurriedly that we overlooked you. It wasn’t intentional.”

          “Let me have your gun.”

          “Wait. What? You want my gun?” Willie said, backing off to the safety of numbers with Clive and Glenn. “What do you want it for?”

          “Relax,” Hadley said soothingly. “I want it for protection, not to shoot any of you. You see, I’m not leaving SL5. My gun is exactly the same as yours. A fair trade.”

          Willie looked uncertainly at his comrades. “What do you think?”

          Glenn nervously licked his lips. “I don’t know. I think it’s alright.”

          Clive chimed in. “Give it to him and let’s go.”

          Willie handed Hadley the gun. “Just one more thing. Did I see a wasselnorf with you?”

          Hadley was defiant. “Maybe you did. So what?”

          “Just this,” Willie replied: “You should know the administration has rights to collect any specimen it wishes on SL5. You may see a hunter coming after this one at any future time. Don’t make it hard on them.”

          Patting his gun, Hadley said, “They better not try.”

          Willie’s eyestalks drooped on opposite sides of his head. “Okay,” he said. “We are leaving you a bundle of food. Goodbye, Hadley. Good luck. You will need it.

          Hadley waited and watched long after they had gone. At last, he returned to the cave. “Patricia?” he called. “They are gone. No need for hiding.”

          The wasselnorf stuck out her head. “Neef?” she said in a petite kind of voice.

          Hadley and Patricia had been developing a language of their own. He was able now to convey to her they would need to migrate in order to be out of danger. He thought they could unite with other wasselnorf in the distant reaches of SL5. He also thought they might devise some tactics for fighting back when inevitably the territory for hunting expanded to wherever they ended up. Her big trusting eyes assented. She brought her face close to his and he buried himself in her fur to hug her. 

          That night they slept one final time in the cave, with she on her side and he against her nape, his back deep inside the fur keeping warm. There was a single monkey bird he had named Rascal nesting on her ear. He kicked aside the meal the rescue party had left him as they went out that morning. They forded the small stream and continued into the mauve forest on the other side. They were unaware if the spacecraft had already docked with the mother ship to soon be leaving for the solar system of Hadley’s youth. They were, in a good way, off to hunt Wasselnorf.