storytime 3

3

Life was good for Petar, he had just participated in yet another successful hunt and was bent over a stream taking a drink and cleaning blood off him as much as possible. He straightened to return to the others who were shouting to him to return, they were loaded and were moving off to the camp.
A Bolt came from a sunny sky and he vanished.
The others looked and looked; no sign of him was to be found. Dammi looked at a tiny scrap of fur that could have been from a hunting cloak.
“Where in Dam’s name has he gone, Dammi?” The hunt leader queried, worried and perturbed.
“Where he came from possibly.” Dammi answered cryptically, hoping this was the case. He had barely seen the white flash out of the corner of his eye, and would not say more. Petar was gone where he was bidden. ‘May Dam guide your way, Petar, and no harm befall you’ he whispered as he held his amulet.

Petar was disoriented but knew who he was and what he knew. But he did not know this world! Strange tall angular buildings that shone with light, wide ribbons of hard material with even stranger carriages moving at speed along the ribbons.
And a great noise came to him as he lay hidden behind a moveable barrier of some sort. People of all shapes and sizes came towards him around a corner, garish costumes, some dressed as animals, drums and something like flutes playing loudly.
“Come on man! No point layin’ there in the dirt while the Carnival is on!” And two men came from the throng, helping him to his feet. He did not understand the language but grinned and joined them doing a slow dance along the ribbon with them. His clothing was perfect for the carnival, light leather vest and leggings with a calf length cape of fur. The others did not see the pockets of the cape and leggings full with carefully crafted flint objects and bone darts.
What mad place is this, he thought, as they passed a long set of railings of - rock? He did not know what metal was. There was a large poster either side of great gates, open, inviting people inside. The poster showed tools - his kind of tools - and pictures of men that could have been straight out of the cave. He slapped the two on the back and ran through the gates before they could drag him back into the pulsating parade.
The place bore a name - ‘Museum’, whatever that meant. A lone guard stood at the entrance doors up the fine hewn stairs, who laughed as Petar approached, “Y’all dressed in part today, go on in - free for the festival - and enjoy!”
Petar did not understand a single word, but the beckoning motion to go inside was clear enough and he grinned with a small head movement towards the man as he ran inside. Silence reigned and his feet - still covered in slightly bloodied leather sandals, slapped noisily sending soft echoes around the lofty halls.
Just as well the exhibition was laid out for an international audience; he found his way to the main display following pictures. He could not read the little cards with symbols on them outside the great coverings of invisible hard substance, but knew the exhibits well. There were tools identical to the ones in his pockets, as fresh as if they had been touched out of the rock yesterday. And the great double headed axe - he stopped in shocked recognition - he knew this, he had left it to the side as he drank and was about to pick it up - the tell tale tiny notch on the left was where he had nearly ruined the great blade in the original knapping.
The great central invisible casing held a scale model of Bear Camp. Tiny figures were placed here and there. He wanted to tell them they had got some detail of placements wrong; there was no way they would have built the latrine that near the stream! No one was in sight and he could not tell them in any case. The whole place crowded around him suddenly and he ran in confusion and panic.
One of the figures could have been him - what, where was this place?!
Running outside to the bright sunlight, the guard nowhere in sight, he looked around not knowing which way to turn. A man appeared up the ribbon of gravelly stones, hailing him with arm raised.
“Petar! There you are! I had expected you earlier, but it seems you have seen the exhibition before the real thing!”
He stopped short, wide eyed. The man spoke his tongue! He stood, rooted.
The man ran to him, embracing him in a bear sized hug before holding him in front of him, hands on his shoulders.
“I understand you are disoriented, Petar. This jump must have been an ordeal for you. I am a friend, Davi, and I will help you.”
Petar found his voice at last. “Help, Davi? That is most welcome.”


Dave tried his best to winkle out the secret without seeming too keen in case he raised the two’s suspicions.
His fears were nigh confirmed the day the men with bright boots and buttons marched in insolently. This was a military project then, and he knew he HATED all militia with fervour. Militia caused war, they did not stop it.
The colonel nearly interrogated the two on the spot. Why was no progress being made? Did they need more funds? Was the whole thing beyond their knowledge?!
The two made placating noises, assuring him everything was progressing, yes slowly, but progressing nonetheless. No, they could not explain further, it was far too technical for the colonel and his aides to understand. More funds of course would be appreciated …..
The colonel left as abruptly as he had entered. Further funding would be on its way shortly, let them know how they wanted it paying this time.
The two saw the black brooding look Dave gave at the men’s retreating backs.
“You recognise anyone, Dave?”
“No. All I do know is that I hate military men with a vengeance, don’t know why.” He rose and faced them. “I want no part of this - thing - if it’s military, of any kind. I’ll say goodbye to you now.” He turned to go.
“Dave! Don’t be so hasty. Besides, where will you go? What will you do?”
“Dunno. Anything I guess. Menial if I have to.”
“There’s no need for anything so drastic, my friend. You are doing well here, stay and learn again.”
“You reckon, Prof Slongur? I don’t know I CAN learn any more without both of you letting me in on the inside. Cough up, at least a little, and I’ll stay.”
The two looked at each other. They would have to let him ‘in’ to keep him there - and they did NOT want him wandering out of their control to talk to anyone he wanted to. He had seen too much already.
“OK, Dave,” Lagarto said reasonably, “We’ll let you ‘in’ so to speak. But that makes you well and truly tied to us whether you like it or not. This must not get out.”
Slongur laughed. “Even to the military idiots that are funding us. They THINK they have a weapon to end all weapons. They don’t, not quite. And it is OUR project, NOT theirs.”
“Just as well then. Fine. Lets go sit in the parlour as it were with a good drink while you spill the beans.”
It was not until much later that Dave realised the colonel had spoken in another language and he had understood it. The language Lagarto and Slongur used was not of this place.