0300 Book 2 - 2. Chapter 2 Cardiff

Chapter 2: Cardiff

Tobor and I arranged things so that after Danny and I completed our tour on the Goddard, I would get a shore duty assignment in Cardiff, Wales. Cardiff was the Fleet’s communication-electronics-nanotech research laboratory, and suddenly they needed a director. Well, once Tobor manipulated the personnel list, they did. And, I needed a primo shore assignment on my record, to help create the fiction that I should be promoted to Captain. (It worked. Tobor told me about my promotion on my last duty day in Wales—four days before it was officially announced.)

It would be a good assignment for Danny, too. He would attend the Fleet School in Cardiff, make some new friends, and be with a lot of kids his own age. It was as close to a normal childhood as one could get.

That’s not to say the assignment wouldn’t be without danger and a certain amount of personal conflict. Even before we got to Geneva for the mandatory meeting with Admiral Davis, we found ourselves in trouble.

We had grounded the Goddard at Wheelus Space Port on the Mediterranean Sea. My appointment with Davis was in three days. Danny and I planned to spend a couple of days on the beach before taking a shuttle to Geneva. We went with a bunch of the crew of the Goddard, including some of Danny’s little friends from the junior mess.

It was a clothing optional beach; I opted for a pair of brief swim trunks. Danny, his friends, and the younger crewmen opted for no clothes. There were several times I was glad I had the trunks on—like the time Danny lay down and demanded I rub sun block all over him.

That’s what I was doing when we were attacked. Two men, dark haired and swarthy, wearing nothing but sandals and fanny packs, walked down the beach from the direction of Tripoli. I felt something wrong, and was on alert. My hand, which had been rubbing Danny’s tummy, paused.

“What’s wrong?” Danny asked. I didn’t know if he felt my concern, or just wondered why he wasn’t getting tummy rubs.

“Shh,” I said. Danny linked with me—we were getting pretty good at that—and I knew he felt the men. Their thoughts were black. The two men reached the area where the ship’s people had put out their blankets. I reached for my duffle bag. A dozen steps later, the men were abreast of us. They turned. I felt them prepare to strike. There was no question in my mind, they were going to attack me and probably Danny. I pulled my weapon from the duffle bag. The men’s hands dipped into their fanny packs, and pistols appeared. There were too many people around; I didn’t have a clear shot.

I pushed the one on the left. Danny told me later that blood burst from his ears, nose, mouth, and eye-sockets. I wasn’t watching. I knew he was dead; I focused on the second man. He was distracted, but only for a moment. I felt him squeeze the trigger and blocked those muscles, and then pushed him. I had barely enough strength to kill him without all the special blood effects. His pistol discharged into the sand as he fell.

Now, kids were screaming. Other Fleet people had drawn service weapons from fanny packs (which, incidentally, take on an entirely new meaning on a nude beach). A couple of them looked to me. I was no longer their captain, but I was an officer, a commander. I told them to establish a perimeter and get the civilians away from the bodies.

I walked to where the bodies lay. Danny followed me. I told him not to look while I put a bullet from my service pistol in each one of the men’s head. That would be easier to explain than, “ . . . and then, I used telepathy to explode their brains.” Danny looked, anyway, and was sorry he did.

It wasn’t hard to convince the Fleet Marine MPs that the two had likely been remnants of a Muslim fundamentalist cult that wanted to impose Sharia Law, and to whom nudity on the beach was an offense.

Danny wanted cuddles that night. I saw that he wanted more than that, but was afraid to ask.

“Danny? You aren’t sure what happened, today.” That was enough to get him started.

“You killed them, just like you killed the policeman outside my house. And then you shot their heads.”

He didn’t say anything else; he didn’t have to. It was up to me, now.

“Danny, you know we are different from other people. We can talk to one another mind-to-mind; we can sometimes tell what other people are thinking; we’re stronger, smarter, and faster than other people. We may be more, but that’s all I know, now.

“You and I are not the only ones who are like that. There seem to be some others who don’t like us a lot. They’ve tried to kill us twice, now. You and I are the only ones who know that those two weren’t motivated by Muslim fundamentalism. Well, you and I and whoever was behind them know that.

“When I killed the policeman outside your home, I felt someone’s mind. It was someone who had been following you in the mall. I didn’t feel anyone, today. But, I’m sure that someone like us, someone with a veil, and someone who can push, was behind them.

“I put bullets in their heads to support the story that I had shot them, and not killed them with my mind. The bullet wounds made it easier to convince Fleet Security.

“Danny, exploding people’s heads and then putting bullets into them is the least of what I will do to protect you. I will kill to protect you, and I will kill to protect me because I believe that I am your best protection, at least, until you’re older. Please don’t hold that against me.”

“Oh, no!” Danny hugged me. “I felt everything, it’s just . . . is this going to happen all the time?”

“Danny, I don’t know. But I’m going to start trying to find out.”

The next morning, before Danny woke, I used a secure terminal to contact Tobor. I bypassed the first levels, and went directly to Level 7, where I could hold a conversation with him. I described the attack by the policeman and the Libyans, and asked Tobor to start looking for people who might have the same talents Danny and I had, but who might be our enemies. Tobor acknowledged the request. I didn’t know what good it might do, but it was the best I could think of at the time.

Dealing with the aftermath of the attack had taken a day of our shore leave. The next morning, we took a shuttlecraft to Geneva for my meeting with Admiral Davis. I took Danny. The admiral had asked to meet him. Apparently he had learned that Danny was now my son.

Danny and the admiral got along famously once the admiral asked Danny a silly riddle and Danny giggled a response. The admiral didn’t have any problem talking seriously to me with Danny in the room. I don’t know if that was the veil, or the admiral’s way. We discussed the goals that the lab should pursue during the next year. He cautioned me that commanding these scientist and technicians was going to be even harder than commanding the scientists on the Mars expedition. He commended me for including the cadets in the scientific mission. He wrapped up by asking if there was “anything else.” There wasn’t. Danny and I stood, saluted, and left.

Once we were in the hallway outside the waiting room, Danny whispered. “He’s not so bad; why are you afraid of him?”

“I am not afraid,” I said. “Okay, I’m afraid a little. He’s smart, and he’s sharp. I’m afraid that someday he will see behind the veil and not like what he sees.”

It was about two months into the Cardiff assignment that Danny decided he wanted to do sex stuff with me. He was nine; I was fifteen. Age nine with six years difference in age was about two standard deviations away from the norm. Of course, I had been nine, and Mark fifteen, when I first had sex. Still, I was very reluctant. What won me over was that Danny and I had developed our telepathy to the point we could feel, know, and see everything the other felt, knew, or saw. He opened himself wide. I was glad I was sitting down. The intensity of his feelings nearly knocked me out. But, buried in the raw emotions, the hurts of his childhood, the joy with his new life, and a little—okay, a lot—of pre-adolescent lust, I saw love. Not just “boyfriend” and not just “gratitude,” but love. I examined myself closely and found the same thing.

Still, we talked a lot before I would agree. I told him that if I were to be his boyfriend as well as his daddy, and do sex stuff with him, it would mean I would not do that with anyone but him. However, since he was still young, I told him I wanted him to have other friends, and to have sex with them if they wanted. “You are too young to make a lifetime commitment, Danny.”

He argued; I was adamant. He agreed. I lifted an eyebrow; he let me read him. I saw that he meant it, but I suspected that he’d not work very hard to find opportunities. I would have to encourage him.

It was nearly 2300 hours that night when we finished talking. We undressed and slid into bed. “Cuddles only, tonight, Danny. It’s too late for anything else,” I said. Besides, I had plans: plans that I hid from him.

The next afternoon after playtime with his friends, Danny found a note from me. I’ll be home in an hour; there’s a package for you on the bed.

When I got home, Danny was waiting: showered, and dressed in a white terry robe, just like the one from the hotel two years before, except that this one fit him. As soon as I closed the door, he rushed into my arms. “You remembered!” he said. “You remembered!”

“Um, hum,” I said around a kiss. “And there’s one for me, as soon as I shower.”

Danny and I had seen each other naked many times. Even the Captain’s quarters of the Goddard were not spacious. Although Danny lived in the cadet’s quarters, about once a week he would spend the night with me—cuddling, talking, and bonding. We both had undressed in the bedroom before showering. At Cardiff, Danny was a boarding student at the school; however, he spent many weekends in my quarters. He had his own room, and when he brought one of his little friends over, they would sleep there. When he didn’t bring a classmate, he’d sleep with me. The quarters were larger, but we still undressed in front of one another before showering.

We knew each other’s bodies; however, this evening I began with a detailed exploration of Danny.

I moved my eyes and fingers, and occasionally my lips or tongue, over every bit of Danny’s body, and opened my mind so that he saw what I saw, and I felt what he felt. It wasn’t clinical, but it wasn’t sexual, either. It was as close to pure love as I could make it. I showed him what he could not see, I memorized everything: the freckle behind his right ear; the scar on his knee from a childhood fall; the tiny nails on his littlest toes; the delicate web between his fingers; the ridges of his fingerprints; the swirl of his cowlick; the perianal raphe; and his frenulum. By the time I reached that point he was so near orgasm that my touch set him off. He was a year or so from puberty, and even farther away from being able to ejaculate; still, he enjoyed himself. A lot. And, since we were linked, so did I.

Afterwards, we snuggled. Danny fell asleep almost instantly. I lay awake for a while wondering if I’d done the right thing. Danny woke me the next morning with a kiss and, “Thank you for last night, Paul. It wasn’t what I thought it would be, but it was the most wonderful thing in the whole wide world!”

“Thank you, Danny, it was for me, too, the most wonderful thing I’ve ever known, and I don’t mean your climax. I mean the whole thing from getting naked to falling asleep.”

Danny kissed me, again. “That’s what I meant too, you big silly!”

Yes, it had been the right thing to do.

It was a couple of days before I remembered that Danny had said our experience wasn’t what he thought, and before I had a chance to ask him what he meant.

He blushed, and typed a few commands into the computer. A video began. I was blushing, too, in a few seconds. On the screen, two naked Hispanic boys cavorted. In only a few minutes, they’d done sex stuff I’d never thought of—and certainly never imagined doing. At their climaxes, there was semen everywhere: in their mouths, on their faces, on their chests, in their rectums. When it was over, I asked Danny to make sure there was no trace of the video on my computer, and then asked, “Is that what you want to do?”

“Not really,” he said after taking a moment to think. “What they were doing? That’s just sex. What we did? That was love, I think.”

I hugged him. “You’re not only cute, and smart, you’re perspicacious. You’re my perspicacious pixie, and I love you.”

“I am not a pixie! Pixies are little, and I’m not little.”

“I am your captain, and your daddy. I can call you my pixie when we are in private.

“But only if you say it’s okay.”

Danny smiled. “It’s okay. I’ll be your pixie, but not that perspiration kind. I’m going to work on a nickname for you, though.” He giggled, hugged me, put on his utility belt with the 9-mm pistol, kissed me, and left for his duty shift. I sat back and wondered what his fruitful mind would come up with.

It turned out that there were some things from the video that Danny did want to do. Eventually, we did.

Fleet schools operated year-round. Fleet knew, however, that they were educating kids, and made sure there were plenty of holidays. The holidays were often scheduled around sporting events or weather. Yes, weather. We’d get a report of a couple of weeks of good weather in some vacation destination, and school would be out. Except that Fleet configured vacations as learning events, and combined them with some sort of educational project.

The highlands of Scotland were absolutely beautiful that spring, and were one of Fleet’s approved destinations. I took Danny and two of his little friends, a kid named Joey and one named Roo, there. Both boys were from Australia, where a “joey” was a little kangaroo. Since there were two, and they both were Danny’s age, only one could be nicknamed Joey; everyone called the other, Roo.

We played golf at St. Andrews, saw the Black Watch Military Tattoo, raced powerboats on the North Sea, wore kilts and ate haggis at a formal banquet, visited castles, and walked the moors with a naturalist. Danny and I had talked about what we might do, and had carefully vetted his friends to make sure they’d enjoy that sort of thing, so everyone had a grand time. There were two days left, and we were trying to cram in the University of Edinburgh and one more castle, before taking a shuttlecraft to London to ride the big Ferris Wheel (which the Brits were once again calling the ‘London Eye,’ because they and the French were on the outs . . . again), when it happened.

We had arrived at a castle about 30 minutes before the tour was to start, and were waiting in the chapel, reading brochures. A man, wearing black except for a thin, white collar, walked from a side door toward us. It took a moment to see the collar, because his face and neck were so white. Pluto fleet? was my first thought. When I’d served there, we’d eschewed sun lamps, and taken vitamin D pills rather than lose the pallor that was the hallmark of a Pluto assignment. I realized, instantly, that he was not Fleet of any kind. Still, there was no warning until he reached us.

“The morning tour has been cancelled,” he said. “However, I will be happy to—”

Danny’s cry of “No! No!” came at almost the same time as the attack on my mind. I’ve always felt that if Danny hadn’t spoken, I would have been caught unaware. Danny has always disagreed; however, I’m the historian, so I get to say.

[At this point, a marginal note reads, “No you don’t. You beat him and saved us. I love you. Danny.”]

I felt a blackness, a miasma, erupt from the man’s mouth; rather, from his mind, but I anthropomorphized it as a black cloud emanating from his mouth. The Exorcist? I thought, and pushed that aside.

I felt Danny in my mind, now, and pulled him with me in my attack.

The man, himself, was not our enemy. Like the policeman in Seattle, someone was using the man. Still, the only defense I had was to destroy him. I did not hesitate, but lashed out with the same power I’d used on the policeman, stronger now. The abbe fell, clutching his chest. Another mind, the one behind him, fluttered briefly like a handkerchief in the wind, before disintegrating.

In killing the tool, I’d killed the wielder of the tool. There was some satisfaction in destroying our enemy, but there was sadness at having killed the abbe.

It took only a little energy to make that memory fade from the minds of Joey and Roo. And, it required very little encouragement to convince them that we’d seen enough castles, and should go early to London.

While on the shuttle to London, I informed Tobor of this attack. I was not comforted by his reply, which was a simple acknowledgment.

I was happy to end our vacation. The two days in London were anxious ones for me. I found myself constantly scanning people, looking for I knew not what. Danny and I were both armed, but we were usually in crowds, where we might not be able to use our pistols. Further, I did not look forward to the time Danny might have to shoot someone. I think Danny felt some of my anxiety—the hug we shared the instant we reached my quarters on the Fleet compound at Cardiff was an especially long and intense one. I resolved to stay in Fleet compounds for a while.

We had been back at Cardiff only two weeks when Joey banged on the door to my quarters at 0300. Danny and I were cuddled, but woke quickly. As soon as Danny saw Joey in the security monitor, he ran to the door, forgetting or ignoring that he was naked. I quickly put on a robe, and followed.

“Roo’s dead!” Joey said, and collapsed in Danny’s arms.

While Danny comforted Joey, I called the school commandant to tell him Joey was here, and to ask what had happened. Roo had become ill at suppertime. A high fever led to convulsions, and he died within hours. “His entire element has been quarantined,” the commandant said, “and now, I’m afraid, you and your son. I’ll send someone right away.”

Before I completed the call, Danny had taken Joey to his room, put them both in pajamas, and cuddled him. Joey was still crying, but I felt Danny gently pushing reassurance. I went quietly to the bedside and felt Joey’s forehead. Warm, but not more than his mental state would suggest. I caught Danny’s eye. Do you need any help? Will you be okay?

Danny shook his head. I felt his shock and sadness, but also felt that he was putting it aside in order to comfort his friend. I knew I’d have to deal with Danny’s feelings, later.

The autopsy revealed that Roo had died of a strain of viral meningitis. The USF Walter Reed arrived within hours, and squads of doctors and corpsmen stormed the school and the laboratory, inoculating everyone with an anti-viral. Three days later, the quarantine was lifted.

The second night that Danny, Joey, and I were confined to quarters by the quarantine, the boys came into my bedroom.

“Daddy, would you cuddle us?” Danny asked. I need daddy cuddles, but Joey needs cuddles, too. I can’t leave him.

Of course, Danny. You’re very brave and loving to take such good care of Joey. “Sure, Danny.” I pulled the covers back and the boys tumbled into my bed.

Both boys were less morose the next day, and managed to play a few games. It would take time, but I knew—I saw—that they were getting over their sorrow.

Two other boys in Roo’s element—Kyle and Sampson—had died. The source of the infection was traced to a dead animal they had encountered while on maneuvers. Calls were made to parents; arrangements were completed.

Three days later, Roo’s element conducted the funeral. Danny and I were invited, as were a few boys from other elements, the commandant, the element tactical officer, and two teachers. The element commander was the moderator. He spoke of the boys’ accomplishments, and then called on other members of the element to speak. He also called on Danny.

“Roo was a happy boy, who spread happiness to everyone he touched,” Danny said. “I know my life is richer because I knew him. He will live in my heart, forever.” Danny sat down beside Joey and reached for his hand.

When all who wanted to had spoken, the element commander touched a button on his communicator. On a hill above the assembly, fire burst forth. A brisk wind fanned the flames, although they were gas-fed and did not need to be fanned. Still, the wind spread over the hills of Wales the ashes of the bodies that no longer held that which had been Roo, Kyle, and Sampson.

“Daddy? Joey remembered me,” Danny said. We were in my quarters following the funeral. “I haden’t seen him since we got back from London—his element was on maneuvers in the mountains. But he remembered me! And he came here when he needed to be comforted. Why did he remember me when you said people forget you?”

“Maybe it’s because I make people forget me, and you don’t,” I said.

“Huh?”

“I’ve thought about that. I’ve noticed that the boys in your element, and the boys on the teams your element competes with, don’t forget you like people forget about me when I was your age. I think it’s because you’re not afraid, and that I was.”

* * * * *

The Roman fort, called Tamium, had been incorporated into Cardiff Castle, which in turn was part of the Fleet School. For two weeks each summer, hundreds of cadets from the school would don costumes from several eras and stage battles and sieges. The commandant of the school invited me to join the judging panel, so I turned over my job (which wasn’t nearly as hard as Admiral Davis had made it out to be) to my deputy for the duration.

Danny was cute as could be in his costume. Uniform, rather, because except for lighter metal in the armor, scutum, and helmet, everything was authentic. The red tunic, short-sleeved and extending to mid-thigh, was rough wool; the caligae, or sandals, were leather with iron studs in the soles; the sword was steel, although blunt. The boys’ packs contained the standard three-day ration of salt, flatbread, onions, and dried beef, and their water bottles were leather. They considered it a point of honor to maintain authenticity by going commando (i.e., not wearing underwear). That usually lasted no more than a couple of days, until the rough wool of the tunic made them change their minds.

Judging was not on who won or lost; the battles were re-enactments, and the outcome was ordained. Rather, the boys were judged on how well they played their roles. The Romans had to maintain formation and discipline, although the barbaric Welsh were expected to run around pell-mell. It was all in fun, and everyone got to act like barbarians at the final banquet. [In defense of the Welsh, the Romans, did not consider barbarian a pejorative word; rather, it described someone who wasn’t Greek or Roman, or who spoke a different language. By that definition, I’m a barbarian.]

I kept in touch with Tobor and prompted him repeatedly to look for people who might be our enemies. His reports were always negative. In hindsight, I think it was because I hadn’t phrased my request well enough or given him all the information he needed to work with. Danny walked in once when I was talking to Tobor, and things changed for the better.

“Who are you talking to?” Danny asked. He closed the door, stood behind me, and gave me an over-the-shoulder hug.

“Um, Tobor,” I answered. I wanted to break the connection, but that would have been a bad signal to Danny.

“It talks?” he asked.

“Yes, at Level 7. And, don’t call him it. He doesn’t like that.”

“Wow! Can I?”

“May I,” I corrected, automatically. “Yes, go ahead.” I surrendered my chair to Danny. “The mike is on.”

“Hi, Tobor, I am Danny,” he said.

The AI’s flat voice responded. “Hello Danny I am Tobor I know about you Paul has told me how are you?”

“Um, I’m fine, Tobor, but how come you’ve never talked to me, before?”

“I only talk to people who have access to Level 7 that is only Commander Paul Stewart.”

My guts tightened. He only talks to me? He can’t mean that. Perhaps he means only at the laboratory. Perhaps . . .”

“Then why are you talking to me,” Danny asked the obvious question.

“Because Paul is your daddy and he loves you,” Tobor replied.

“Thank you, Tobor,” Danny said. “I will try to live up to your trust.”

There was a longish pause, before Tobor spoke. “Thank you Danny Paul wants me to search for people who may want to harm you but his instructions lack precision will you help?”

That completely blew from my mind the question of why Tobor only spoke to me, and began a long conversation during which Danny replaced my original request with a structured set of questions. I hoped it would be enough.

Danny had known I was worried about something. After the session with Tobor, I could not long keep it from him. When he realized I had restricted him to the school or laboratory compounds, and insisted he use only Fleet transport between them, he figured out why I was worried, and confronted me. He set the stage with an intense cuddle-talk session, and caught me completely unaware.

“Daddy, why are you worried? Why can’t I go off the Fleet compounds? Why haven’t you planned our fall break?”

It took me several seconds to process his questions, and several more to think up answers. I should have taken more time.

“Because I’m worried for you,” I said.

“That’s a circular argument,” Danny said. “You are worried because you are worried.” His voice was flat, emotionless.

Been taking lessons from Tobor, was my first thought.

“Because I am afraid for you!” I said. “Because I love you so much! Because . . . .” I stopped talking. There was no stronger argument than that.

“Because you are afraid for me, or afraid for you? Afraid that you’ll be left alone, again?” Danny asked.

Out of the mouth of babes, I thought, although I shielded that.

[At this point, there is a marginal note: “Not well enough; and I’m not a baby! —Danny]

It took a lot longer for me to think about this than it took Danny to say it. Finally, “Both,” I said. “I’m afraid for you, especially since you are not as strong as I am, and since we don’t know what we are facing. I’m afraid for me, because I was so alone for so long, and I don’t ever want to be alone, again.”

I’ve heard that “make-up” sex after an argument is the best. I had no point of comparison; however, that night was incredible. We hadn’t had an argument, but we had (rather, I had) created a conflict, and resolved it.

Danny made me realize that our lives were meant to be more than school and promotions and Fleet compounds. So, we took our fall break in South Africa, where it was becoming spring. Danny had an academic understanding of Earth’s axial tilt and the seasons, but the difference in weather between the southern and northern hemispheres fascinated him. So did the southern sky, with its new constellations, as well as the archaeology done by Dr. Raymond Dart and others at Sterkfontein.

We visited the Sterkfontein caves with a team from the University of Witwatersrand, in Johannesburg. The University was part of the Fleet Pure Science Group. They depended on Fleet for a significant part of their funding, and were more than happy to show us around.

For the record, I did not take advantage of their hospitality, but used what we learned to help Tobor put forward an increase in their funding. The caves were subject to periodic flooding, and it was essential that we—meaning Fleet Science—get as much out of them as we could before the information was destroyed.

Dr. Dart had died just before I was born; however, one of his students, Ray Hooven, was on the faculty of the university. He took to Danny, and was patient and supportive of Danny’s efforts to learn hands-on archaeology.

Once Ray suggested it, and Danny got the bug for it, I had no choice but to take him on a “photo safari” in Kenya. It involved riding around the veldt in antique four-wheel-drive vehicles, sleeping in a tree-house (yes, a tree house with hot and cold running water and flush toilets—my minimum requirements for a “hardship assignment”). It also involved taking pictures of the animals in the game preserve that now encompassed the entire country of Kenya as well as big chunks of what had been Ethiopia, Somalia, Uganda, the Sudan, and Tanzania. After dust storms in the late 20^th century had nearly annihilated the population of East Africa, Fleet had moved in with aid that included birth control methods that helped keep the population from outgrowing the continent’s resources. It had worked in China, India, and parts of the USA, and it looked like it would finally work in Africa, as well.

I insisted that the entire party, including other tourists, be positively vetted before I would agree. It took a lot of pushing, but by the time we left Joburg for Kamuyu, I was okay, but not entirely happy.

The “antique” Land Rovers had been fitted with the same drive used by Fleet shuttlecraft, and after an hour of bouncing around the terrain on the tyres, just for the authentic experience, they lifted a couple of feet off the ground. The rest of the tour was in relative comfort, and quiet.

Quiet enough, in fact, that we were able to get within a few feet of lions, zebra, giraffes, several species of antelope, water buffalo, and gnu. Or gnus, I’m never sure. At one stop, we watched (and some filmed) a male lion mounting a female. Danny watched, slack-jawed until I told him, Close your mouth unless you are trying to catch flies. I felt his grin.

[Marginal note: That’s not all you felt. And that night in the tree house was one of the best, ever.—Danny]

I had focused so hard on people as a threat, I was utterly surprised when the herd of antelope abruptly changed direction and headed directly toward our photo blind.

The blind was a flimsy structure of cane and grass. It was located on a hill, above the plain where the antelope were expected to stay. They’d done so for hundreds of years, according to the guides. Danny and I, as well as another tourist from Fleet and one civilian, were in this particular blind. Danny and the other two were shooting video of the herd’s movements through the valley when, suddenly, the entire herd wheeled toward us.

Nova sol! I thought. I was watching over Danny’s shoulder, and had a wider view of what was happening. The lead edge of the herd reached the bottom of the hill. At that moment, my understanding of our situation clarified. We weren’t on a hill, we were on a low rise, a very low rise, and in a hut made of tissue. My mind flashed back to an old Western movie: shoot the lead animal; the others will pass to either side of him; he will provide a shelter for you. Yeah, right. Shoot an antelope running up a hill and do it with a pistol at point-blank range?

My mind was faster than my hand. One after another, the lead animals stumbled and fell. By the time the herd reached the blind, there was a pile of carcasses 50 yards long and 20 yard wide. I was sick at the slaughter. Still, I had felt the presence of another, someone who had controlled the lead animals and turned the herd toward us.

The Game Wardens were not happy; however, there was no sign of what had killed the 45 animals. I tried to plant the notion that they’d simply stumbled, broken bones, and died trying to climb the hill, or that they’d been trampled by those behind them. The evidence didn’t support either theory, so I focused on making people forget that Danny and I had been there.