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The Wilderness

I hold my breath, perfectly immobile, flattening behind the tree the best I can, while the beast casts interrogative woop-barks in my general direction.

My heart is quiet and my scruff is flat: I do not fear the bezel-heads. But I live by the Foragers' Creed: Plutus is big and you are small; the greatest killer in the wild is negligence, for tiny risks pile up fast here; be humble, use your head, and never lower your guard.

The repeated barks accelerate, then get higher pitched and more metallic, then lower into a deep growl. The creature is alert, and its sonar is trying various frequencies. When I stop hearing anything but feel a faint rumble in my bones, I know I have been found. So I stand up to show myself.

It's a large, mature, male: about five meters long for one ton, I'd say. It's missing one of its six clawed paws and it's sharp-edged and featureless dodecahedral head (its mouth is somewhere under its chest) shows many old scars. Yet most of its rubbery white skin is pristine, hinting me that it wan its past confrontations. Its meat and leather would fetch me good value, but I'd rather pass this fight.

It pummels the ground with its head, leaving deep imprints in the dirt. “I hear your warning, old man." As I keep my distances and am no longer covered by the tree, it calms down the time to examine me better. Its head blurs from the vibration when the powerful growl resonates again.

I'm a Ship's Cat. We were all created as warriors to protect the Makers and their equipment, but Mama drew fine genes for me: I'm tall and strong, even for a smilodon-like feline (our large fangs are more modest… but, I believe, also more practical, and we have a thick, bluish with black stripes, fur for better camouflage here).

But this is not what the bezel-head is focusing on: it's sending more and more metallic clicks through me, to check my augments. I also have excellent compatibility, so Mama packed me full of tech.

I ready my spear and await for the beast's decision. It eventually goes silent, loudly snorts three times, and walks away: I have been deemed too much trouble for my nutritional value.

With the probable largest predator of the surroundings out of my way, I should work safely this morning. Safely by Plutus' standards, that is. “Blessed be, wise ol' warrior. May your hunt be as fruitful as mine."

—

The bluish forest of Walfridd opens to a striking purple tundra, peppered with the spiraling chalky bones of some long dead, house-sized, crustaceans. I have been exploring the wilderness for years, and I still often discover wondrous new and alien sights like this: suspended yellow forests; dark crystal fields and their mysterious fumes; green rivers that move upward (they are actually migrating gelatinous slugs); fields of ribbonlike weeds that run away squeaking when approached…

The flute call of jewel-birds, and the price of their crystal beaks, is not even the main thing enticing me further: you don't become a Forager if you lack a sense of wonder and curiosity.

But I know better: my trip has been bountiful already, and we all heard that saying about curiosity and the cat. It's very true, here, as nature's imagination is not limited to pretty sceneries: we have exploding rocks (actually a kind of mushroom, that creates welcoming conditions for its spores by turning the foolish into soil); that plain moss which leaks a pink liquid if you press on it (it's both a strong hallucinogen and attracting clouds of its symbiotic carnivorous bees); twig-like creatures that can bury themselves deep in your body in seconds (to eat your bones); dangerously sharp and grabby grass; more obviously hostile large predators of all kinds and shapes…

Each time I'm tempted to forget the Creed and wander, I remember how we got here in the first place: the Makers were glorious Foragers, sailing the endless skies from star to star for riches. They were especially greedy for planets with life signatures, as these offer unique exotic goods. Planet Plutus was too far from their home to be a sensible target, but so appetizing they ignored the Creed to come.

Their landing didn't go well, and they damaged their engines. Their mighty ship, the Abundance, went stranded. This is when they had Mama —the ship's computer— produce us, to shield them from the wilderness.

They called for help, far into the infinite void above. For there was an Ancient Law among Makers never to deny a stranded peer their help. And the infinite void soon answered their call. It said something like: “Sorry pals, but the Ancient Laws do not reach this far. And you are not valuable enough to be worth the expanse of a rescue expedition. Good luck!"

This is part the Creed as well: if you are an idiot and don't know your own limits, the lives of the experimented Foragers risked for your rescue will be weighed against the one of dumb lonely you. Prepare to face consequences on your own.

Time to return home! My bags are full of delicious cylinder-fishes, poisonous pollens (that will be turned into precious medicines), rare ores, and blue-potatoes!

Also, my right shoulder is starting to hurt again: last week's expedition was more eventful than today's and I'm still recovering. Good thing I'll soon be able to afford a good massage.

Continued on my other account (for technical reasons):

• Post's Page[

](https://www.furaffinity.net/view/57658081/)

• Direct Link to the PDF[

](https://d.furaffinity.net/art/bahehe/stories/1722989774/1722989774.bahehe_holier-than-thou.pdf)