Jarn’s Journal, Day 672

Jarn’s Journal is the fictional journal of an alien stranded in Africa 125,000 years ago. He is being hailed as a god by the human ancestors he has discovered. His story is the remote background of the Jarnian Confederacy, the setting of my science fiction novels. The Journal to date is on my author website.

Day 672

The equinox is close, if not here. The grass is shriveling, though not yet as brown as when I arrived – that must have been a drier than normal year. Plant food is harder to find, and some of the animals are leaving. Already the shaman has asked me if I will go with them to the Gather. I wasn’t trying to read her mind, but I couldn’t help picking up what a coup it would be for her group to be accompanied by a god.

I am not a god! Why can’t I get that across?

Besides, I don’t think I can keep up with them.

They will be walking. The longest distance I’ve walked, since that first disastrous day, is from here to the camp. It takes the shaman a little over an hour. I takes me two, and I’m pretty well worn out when I get there. In fact I’ve done it only once, the time I took Songbird home. No doubt they’d carry me, but I don’t want to slow them down.

And to be very honest ….

I’m not sure I can stand the stench. They do the best they can, but water is carried from the stream, sanitation is non-existent, butchering is done in the camp … well, let us just say that any group of people that large, carrying out their life without benefit of the amenities I have in my shelter, stinks.

It wasn’t bad at first, when they had only been at the camp site a day or so. But odorous materials pile up with time.

Admit it, I’m spoiled. I like my shelter, which now has running water, modern sanitation, a comfortable bed, and smells faintly of whatever flowers or grasses I’ve brought in. I don’t want to leave it.

Now I just have to figure out how to tell the shaman no, politely. Perhaps this journal, which requires the computer in my shelter, could serve as an excuse? But I will miss having someone intelligent to talk with.

Jarn’s Journal Day 625

This is an entry from the (fictional) Journal of Jarn, an alien stranded on Earth some 125,000 years ago, during the interglacial preceding the one we are in. His stranding ultimately led to the Jarnian Confederation, the setting for my science fiction novels Homecoming and Tourist Trap. The setting is Africa, in the southern hemisphere. The Journal to date is also posted on my author website.

Day 625

I think I am beginning to have some handle on the seasons of this planet, and how they affect the nomads. The rains come a little before the southern solstice. It takes a few days for the flush of new growth, which is followed by the herd animals and the nomads and other predators who hunt them. Not that there aren’t some predators, and animals they prey on, year round, but the migratory herds are far more numerous.

I teleported to the nomads’ camp today. The shaman asked me about the fish trap Songbird had made after seeing a picture on my computer, and after I answered I asked the shaman why the nomads did not stay in one place as some of the lions and wild dogs do.

“We follow the food,” she said, and I was reminded of my own early struggles to find things I could eat. I could teleport to where food was abundant, once I found where that was. These people could not. But the shaman continued. “Also, we go to meet with other clans. The young people find mates at the Gather, and it is a good place to trade ideas. But if we stayed there, as you stay at your shelter, there would not be enough food.”

I was reminded of what Songbird had said, when I first asked her why her parents had left her, and the questions I had then about the role of the shamans. “If mates come from different clans, what determines which clan they stay with?”

“That depends on what they want, on the sizes of the two clans, and on the food supply. Sometimes there is a question, and then the shamans of the two tribes decide together. If a clan is too large there is a problem finding food; if it is too small it cannot fight off predators. Our clan could be a little larger, especially with the fish traps you have shown us. That is an idea we will share.

All I had done was observe that the trap in the picture worked because fish could not swim backwards. Songbird worked out how to make the trap and set it where it looked like the natural vegetation of the stream. “Give Songbird the credit,” I urged.

She giggled. “You make us think, and from that comes new things.”

Do not interfere. How can I stop interfering?

Dinosaurs Unearthed: DVD Review

This is the first of a number of reviews of National Geographic’s DVDs on prehistoric animals, so I will start out by saying something that applies to all. They are very good in interviews with actual paleontologists. The computer graphics of the extinct animals are of moderate quality, and there are only a few clips repeated over and over again. These videos are excellent for budding paleontologists or those actually interested in the science of how we know about extinct animals, and are better than series like “Walking With Dinosaurs” in that they allow scientific arguments to be heard. They are not in the same league when it comes to the re-creation of the extinct animals.

This DVD contains two programs originally shown on the National Geographic channel: Dino Autopsy and Dino Death Trap. The first is about a rare fossilized mummy of a hadrosaur, nicknamed “Dakota,” found in the badlands of North Dakota. The fossil was found in 1999 by a teenaged paleontologist, and has supplied information on skin texture and musculature of hadrosaurs. The science is fascinating. The quality of the animation is somewhat less so.

The second program involves the excavation of a site in China. This site produced a number of near-complete skeletons from a period, the Late Jurassic, very poorly represented until now. Most of the attention is given to Guanlong, a very early form of tyrannosaurid. The skeletons are in three dimensions rather than flattened, which has been interpreted as evidence that they were trapped in soft sediments, and lie above each other in a vertical column.

There is speculation about how they died included in the video. Was a volcanic eruption to blame? Was the mud in which they were trapped due to volcanic ash falling into a marsh? Also, while these animals are the early forms of species known from the Cretaceous, the Cretaceous forms were giants, and these animals are relatively small. Guanlong’s back would about reach the waist on a standing human, yet it is an early relative of Tyrannosaurus Rex. What caused the increase in size? Did guanlong really have feathers as part of its crest? They are in the computer animation, and a relative, Dilong, is known to have had primitive feathers. The crest does appear to be a display organ (relatively thin and brittle) and feathers would have made it more conspicuous.

Overall the DVD is worth watching if you are really interested in dinosaurs. If you are looking primarily for entertainment, others are better.

Jarn’s Journal, Day 615

Day 615, Morning

I dreamed last night.

I don’t dream very often, but the bodies leaping in the firelight, the flash of feathers and body paint, and the singing and drumming that accompanied them followed me into sleep. This morning I looked again at the things they had given me, and again I was impressed by the fact that everything these people make is ornamented in some way.

My people love beauty. Perhaps once more than a very few of us could create it, for what we brought with us from R’il’n is more than we can create in these times.

Could it be genetic? I know the stories of lost R’il’n, that there were two suns in the sky, and astronomers warned that the smaller would eventually collide with the larger. It was already disrupting our orbit. We had star flight, and it was agreed that we should split up and search for another place where we could live. Art and culture – the creation of beauty – received very little attention, I suspect, in those years when we were building the great ships that might save our people.

And the fleet that found my world, Kentra, for some reason had mostly engineers and technicians, with very few who could create beauty.

Oh, we brought with us recordings of the great art and music of our past. With time these have become ever more precious, for all too few of us can create such things.

When we returned to where R’il’n’s sun had been, to bring anyone left to Kentra, our home planet was no longer there.

Could these humans still have the spark the R’il’nai have lost?

Jarn’s Journal Day 614

Day 614

They seem to have decided I am a benign god, at least. The fear that I felt yesterday gradually subsided today, though the awe remained.

I teleported to the spot I’d been teleporting Songbird from. She was watching for me, though she’d been gathering foodstuffs while she waited, and proudly escorted me to the camp. This time I was shielded against emotions – not entirely, for safety’s sake, but enough I could function.

They were preparing a feast. Every person in the group filed before me while I was enthroned on a large rock,, and each bore a gift. Some were very welcome indeed, like the clothing – far finer than what Songbird had made me, and beautifully decorated with bits of fur, feather and shell. Some were containers, or items of food. Some were decorations, for the head, throat, arms and legs. Others …. Well, I am still not sure what they are, but I smiled and accepted them as the honors they were intended to be.

The food was primitive relative to some I have eaten, but by far the best I since I was stranded here. Songbird is a better cook than I am, but for the first time I realized that her mother had only started to teach her how to prepare food. Not that I found everything they ate to my taste, but I did manage to eat at least a little of everything they offered.

By that time it was growing dark away from the fire, which seemed to grow brighter as the stars appeared. I was wondering how to excuse myself when several of the men of the group came into the firelight, so ornamented with feathers, animal skins tanned with the hair on, and beads that I could not recognize any of those I had met. They moved in patterns – dancing, the shaman called it – while others made sounds by pounding on shoulder blades, blowing on reeds, and doing other things I could not quite see, as well as singing.

Makers of beauty, I thought. Such are rare among my people. What have I found here?

Jarn’s Journal Day 613

I might as well give up trying not to interfere.

Songbird walks over from the camp every day, generally loaded down with gifts from the clan. She is quite convinced that I am a god, and that I cannot possibly do without her help in finding food (or bringing over what her relatives have provided) and cooking it. From what she said, her people – including the shaman – are just as thoroughly convinced.

And there are at least one leopard, a family of lions, and a pack of hyenas in the area, any of which would find Songbird, alone, a tasty snack.

The first two days I teleported her back to where she could walk back safely, explaining as I did so that it was too dangerous for her to make the walk alone.

She loves being teleported.

Today I walked back to her relatives’ camp with her, thinking that I would explain the dangers and ask her parents to keep her in the camp.

The next thing I knew, I was in the middle of a greeting ceremony, with a number of strangers who were, to put it mildly, terrified of me.

Now I know how to shield against emotions. With animals, it’s automatic – I have to think to feel them. With other R’ilnai it is a matter of politeness. But for almost two years now, the only sentient being I’ve had to shield against was Songbird, and I generally didn’t, because I wanted to know if she was in trouble. To be blunt, it just isn’t automatic any more, and being surrounded by that much fear ….

Well, I managed to excuse myself somehow. I think I babbled something about having to check the food Songbird had left cooking. But the shaman, just before I bolted, urged me to come tomorrow for a proper greeting – and from the texture of her mind, she meant a proper worshiping.

And I think I agreed.

I had better practice my shielding technique.

Jarn’s Journal Day 610, Evening

This is an excerpt from the (fictional) Journal of Jarn, a human-like alien stranded on Earth, in southern Africa, roughly 125,000 years ago. This Journal became the Holy Book of several of the planets that later made up the Jarnian Confederation (where my science fiction books are set.) The entire Journal to date is on my author website.

I wish this planet didn’t have sentient inhabitants, or at least that they were not so much like me. “Do not interfere.” Ha! How can I help but interfere?

As I thought, the two adults were Songbird’s parents, decked out in their best finery, and the smaller, aged figure, even more elaborately adorned, was the person I’ve been calling – and might as well continue calling – the shaman. I suspect clan-mother would be more accurate, as most of her advice seems to come from experience and tradition. I do not know how old she is, but Songbird’s mother is the daughter of her daughter. She is bent and wrinkled, and the few teeth she has left are worn down to nubbins – yet I think from some of the things she said that she is younger than I am.

When I asked her how she knew I would rescue Songbird, while Songbird was showing my “calendar” to her parents, she looked half puzzled. “Sometimes I know when someone is going to die. I knew I could not heal Songbird, and yet I did not feel her death coming. And we had to leave; the clans meet when the rains go north. But I hoped only; I did not know.”

Untrained conditional precognition. We might be like this, if we aged.

Yet they have something we do not have, something that delights the eye. They – all of them – have creativity. Songbird wove patterns into her baskets, which pleased me, but everything these people have is decorated in some way. With us, only a few have the ability to create beauty, and those few are treasured. Is it possible that all of these people, people who grow old like animals, have that spark in their souls?

They know of me. What further harm could I do by accepting their invitation to visit?

The Greenhouse Carol

(To the tune of “Auld Lang Syne”)

Should present climate be forgot,
And ne’er again be seen?
Should glaciers melt and oceans rise
Just because our house is green?
Because our house is green my friends,
Because our house is green,
We’ll sit and swelter in the sun
Because our house is green.

Should deserts spread across the land
While hurricanes grow cruel
From cows and swamps and growing rice,
And from burning fossil fuel?
From burning fossil fuel, my friends,
From burning fossil fuel,
We’ll all dehydrate in the sun
From burning fossil fuel.

Should the I T C Z go away,
And the savannahs return?
Should glaciers melt and cities drown
Because the jungles burn?
Because the jungles burn, my friends,
Because the jungles burn,
We’ll parboil in the tropic sun
Because the jungles burn.

(This was actually written 22 years ago, but it’s as true as ever.)

Jarn’s Journal Day 599

Day 599

They’re gone!

I kept an eye on Songbird and her relatives for three days. It wasn’t as if I had anything else to do, and it salved my conscience a little over sending her back. This morning the camp was not just empty, but gone!

They don’t have much, of course. A few tanned hides for shelter, fire-hardened spears for killing game, cutting tools of flaked stone, gourds and baskets for carrying food and water …. Today nothing was left of the camp but thorn barriers, and those can be cut anywhere. I searched everywhere, but there was nothing. Far less than was left with Songbird.

Why didn’t I put a mental tag on Songbird, so I could be sure she was all right? All right, that would have been very wrong without her informed consent, and how could I inform her in a way she would understand? But at least I would have known that she was safe, and that the abandonment of the encampment did not mean harm to her.

What can I do? I am no tracker, and in this rain not even Patches can tell what way they have gone.

I returned to the shelter after dark, wet and exhausted. The drumming of the rain on the roof is a constant reminder of the inhospitable weather outside. Where is Songbird sleeping tonight?

This is part of the remote back story of the Confederation where my science fiction is set. Jarn’s Journal to date can be found on my author website.

Jarn’s Journal Day 595

Day 595

They have returned, and Songbird has rejoined them.

How am I going to survive with no one but Patches to talk to?

I have been spying on their camp, and they returned yesterday. It must have shown on my face when I teleported back to the shelter, because Songbird at once began saying, “Are they back?”

“Yes,” I said. “Do you want to go back to them?”

I was of two minds about this. Surely she was safer with me, and she was a child; it was my duty to guard her. Guard her, yes, my mind whispered, but she is not your property, and she has a mind and will of her own. Let the decision be hers.

And there was never any question of what her decision would be.

I teleported her back to the vicinity of the camp. “Go home,” I told her.

“Thank you,” she half sobbed, and then turned and ran toward the camp.

I did not leave at once. I did not know these people, and it was not out of the question that they would consider her a ghost or a sacrifice that had failed, and would try to kill her.

They were awed, yes – I could see that much. But the man and woman who gathered her to their arms had only joy on their faces, and the rest of the group, though obviously astonished to find her alive, appeared equally welcoming.

Which was the shaman? I wondered. Not there, or one of those welcoming Songbird back? I stayed long enough to be sure Songbird would be safe, but when two of the group started in the direction Songbird had come from, I teleported back to the shelter.

It is very lonely here without Songbird. There are so many reminders – the pallet I made her, which she promptly tore apart and remade to suit herself, the storage baskets and gourds, the tanned hides ….

The rain on the roof is maddening.

Tomorrow I will teleport back to the vicinity of the camp, and make sure she is still safe.

I am posting this background to my published novels on my author website as I get it written. Don’t forget this is the last day to enter the drawing!