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"I will pass through this world but once. Any good, therefore, that I can do or any kindness I can show to any fellow creature, let me do it now. Let me not defer or neglect it for I shall not pass this way again." 1859 Household Words Weekly Journal


Space Rocker: The Novel

by Michael Steenbergen
Copyright 2010 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Novel's
NAVIGATION

----------------Chapter 1

1  2  3  4  5  6

7  8  9  10  11

Chapter 2

12 13 14 15 16

17 18 19 20 21

Chapter 3

22 23 24 25 26

18 19 20 21 22

Chapter 4

22  22  23  24  25

26  27  28  29  30

31 32

Chapter 3

----------------

James Duncanís last conscious thought was ďWill my lunch make it? I know Iíll be hungry if I live.Ē Then he was overwhelmed with fear. He was feeling that falling sensation that in dreams or nightmares almost always preceded dying.
The impact was tremendous! The crashing crunch of metal and horrific breaking of glass rang through the professorís ears as he was enveloped in darkness.
It was not immediately clear if Space Rocker was dead. Space Rocker was his full knick name. The body did not move and blood trickled slowly from many wounds, but it did not pump or gush. That was a bad sign considering the gaping wounds. The chest seemed very still as if it had no breath. That was another bad sign. Regardless, Space Rocker was dead or unconscious and unaware when the native hunting party arrived.
As the natives sifted through the wreckage they first examined, then immediately destroyed all of his photographic equipment. It was tribal law. They took more time as they examined the other tools of archeology, even books and electronic data devices. Just because the 21st Century knew nothing about the Chapeck Aneal, it certainly did not mean the Chapeck Aneal knew nothing of the outside world. In fact, they were most informed.
The native leading the hunting party suspected the bloody body in the twisted wreckage was that of a grave robber. The leader, distinguished by more feathers and jewelry than his peers, was looking directly at Space Rockerís body when it jerked in a violent spasm. Rocker had choked on the blood trickling into his mouth and tried to sit upright. He was alive! One of the natives raised his spear and moved forward with a stabbing motion. A gesture from the heavily feathered figure stopped his in mid stroke.

It was the custom of the tribe to capture or kill all trespassers. For centuries, the Indian cultures of the Americas had suffered looting, genocide and subjugation. Though peaceful by nature, this tribe now allowed no intrusion from the outside world. Trespassers were dispatched as casually as hunting or chasing away small game animals and rodents. Killing, however, still remained a last and final option. The tribe maintained a sacred respect for all living creatures from plant to insect to bird to animal to man. No creature was ever killed wantonly or wastefully.
Killing was only for self defense and sustenance. If trespassers were armed and aggressive, or if they looted, the sanctity of life did not protect them from a swift arrow or the poison dart. Any contact with the outside world was at the will, and on the terms, of the tribe.
Moonlight glinted off the spear tip, dimly flickering across Rockerís crumpled form. He lay near the fire where the natives had tossed him. Two of the warriors had carried him from the crash site on a makeshift litter of leaves and reeds. His khaki pants were shredded. His shirt had been ripped entirely off his body. Abrasions and scratches crisscrossed his chest and back. Blood gleamed as it seeped from his wounds. Some injuries had been caused by the twisting, ripping metal of the plane as it smashed into the mountain, and other wounds had been caused by the branches and limbs of the thickly forested jungle.
He looked bad, but it was generally superficial. The leather bag that Rocker always wore as a good luck token dangled from his neck. It was this small satchel that had caught the eye of the leader. The feathered figure stooped forward and gently lifted the token from around Rockerís neck. Rocker moaned as he felt the leather strap slipping over his head. He never took the bag off his neck and even in a mostly unconscious state, he was resisting. Several natives moved to grab him tightly and stop him from moving.

 

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Copyright © 1999-2010 by Shirley Blevins, Marble Falls, Texas, United States of America ALL RIGHTS RESERVED   Updated 07/01/2010