Prologue

I waited, as patiently as possible considering the circumstances. I had been dying, the chest pain and weakness in my left arm told me that, but the busybody next door had spotted me when I collapsed and called for help.

Life no longer interested me. Aged muscles and joints, pains, and memory with more holes than a termite-infested stump had seen to that. My close relatives and friends were dead, most of them long ago. I was ready, but something felt different when I woke up. The pains were gone! How could this be?

This room was different too, not the one the hospital the EMT’s had put me in. The walls here were white, not the pale beige I remembered. Where were the machines, the hanging intravenous drip, the wires connecting the machines to my body? Why had I been moved?

Was it too much to ask, to allow an old man to die in peace?

My thoughts wouldn’t focus. I drifted, drowsy, half-awake, confused, but my bladder was insistent. There was an open door and I could make out bathroom fixtures in an adjoining room. Could I make it in time? Could I even walk? I felt no pain, so maybe...

Thoughts muzzy, but my body driven by the familiar morning urge, I pulled the coverlet aside and got up. I stumbled briefly, then braced my hands against the wall for a moment while I caught my balance. Recovered, I straightened my back while barely avoiding a muscle-memory flinch. If you’ve ever had serious back pains, you’ll understand what I mean!

But there was no pain, so I walked carefully through the doorway and entered the bathroom.

I used the toilet—that part worked as well as it ever had—and I marveled for a moment at the difference, then cleaned myself, and flushed. I had no balance issues when I stood, another marvel. My muscles were waking up, becoming useful, but even after washing my hands and face I didn’t feel alert. But for whatever reason, I felt none of the symptoms that had plagued my last few years.

Mind-boggling!

Walking into the bathroom had been easy, no distress, no pain and except for that brief stumble, my muscles had worked as they had when I was young. Even the ancient, worn cartilage, source of stabbing pains in my back and knees, had felt — resilient!

The bathroom was simple. The walls were also white, but not glaringly so. There was a toilet, a basin with a towel, and a shower enclosure with a larger towel on a rod. I decided to take advantage of the respite while I could. I stepped into the shower and slid the glass doors closed.

As soon as I did, warm water sprayed gently over my skin. A recessed shelf held soap and shampoo, so I washed my hair and bathed, but even this familiar process was different, strange. My hair was short and quite thick, my arms faintly hairy, and the hairs were dark, as was the small patch on my upper chest.

More strangeness! My hair had been sparse and gray.Hadn’t it?

Had that all been a dream? Or was I dreaming now?

I saw no controls for the shower, but when I slid the door open, the water flow stopped. I toweled myself dry, hung the towel over the shower enclosure, and returned to the room where I’d awakened.

How could I be walking? Paramedics had brought me in on a stretcher, terminal, suffering from a variety of age-related diseases. I knew I was dying, and I remembered feeling relieved that the process was almost over. I understood, without need for religion, that dead I’d be as I was before I was born, before awareness had come. No heaven, no hell, just no longer living.

Living was uncomfortable, the process of dying a bit more so, but being dead didn’t bother me at all. In fact, I was ready for my uncomfortable no-future life to end.

But now? If I was dreaming, it was the best dream I'd had in years!

The bed had been made in my absence and one wall of the room now looked out on a tranquil forest scene. But then I froze; a man stood by the wall, watching me. Where had he come from? But there was now a chair by the bed, so I bent suddenly-rubbery knees and sat down.

“Your name is Matt,” the man said. His voice wasn’t particularly deep or high-pitched, and simply conversational. Not too loud, but I heard everything clearly, and with no hearing aid, something I knew I needed but stubbornly refused to wear. “Do you remember?” he went on.

I did. That much hadn't changed, and I found the small familiarity comforting. But the questions kept coming, and he might have answers, so I asked, “How did I get here? The last thing I remember was paramedics wheeling me in, but this doesn't look like any hospital I've ever seen!"

“It’s not,” the man said, ignoring my question.. “This facility specializes in the treatment of certain conditions, mostly age-related, but occasionally we take trauma victims. You’ve been in a medically-induced coma for — well, a considerable time. Now it’s time for the next phase of your treatment, rehabilitation, while we complete your transformation. Don’t expect to understand everything immediately, but you will know more the next time we wake you.”

Rehabilitation? How could a dying old man be rehabilitated? "How did I get here? Why do I feel different?" I persisted.

“I will explain as much as I can,” the man said softly. “You will fall asleep shortly, a natural part of the process, so I have only a few minutes.

“The short answer is that I brought you here from the timeline you were born in. Your analysis of your former condition is correct, because in that timeline you would have died. Your body had already begun the final breakdown and death would have occurred shortly. We stabilized your condition and brought you here so that more advanced medical treatments could begin. As for why you’re here, I selected you because you appear suitable for my purpose.” I didn’t understand most of what he'd said, but I wasn’t worried. Strange; had he given me some sort of tranquilizer?

He continued, “You have been given appropriate medical care. I will now complete your transformation. This will take some time — it varies by individual, but you will not recall what happens. It’s best that way, because some of the procedures are painful. During the transformation, you will alternate naturally between sleep and wakefulness. During wakefulness, you will train your body and mind to accept the changes. You will also have more questions. I can answer some of them, but despite the changes you’ve undergone, you lack the capability to understand all that is happening to you.”

“How long will I be asleep this time?” For some reason, that seemed important to me.

“As long as necessary,” he replied. Frustrating! I was drowsy, I wanted to ask another question, but he disappeared even as I drifted into sleep.

***

Waking up went faster, and this time there was no residual drowsiness.

I now remembered a lot more about my previous life. Growing old, preparing to die, that had been no dream, but apparently I had a new lease on life. Or maybe, an entirely new life?

I’d read fictional accounts of do-overs, a chance at a new life while retaining my old memories! I resolved to not repeat the mistakes I’d made the first time through!I was eager to get started, so I got up and stretched, then bent down and touched my toes.

Wonderful! Such a simple thing, so easy now, but I’d lost the ability to do that a long time ago. The bath worked as I remembered; I showered again, then returned to the bedroom. Clothing lay across the bed now — how did they do that? — so I got dressed. The underwear felt silky, yet soft and absorbent. The socks were the sort I remembered, a knitted fabric with a cushioned sole. They reminded me of my old Army boot socks!

The boots were different though, made of soft leather or something resembling it. The shirt and trousers were familiar in cut, although like the underwear, the fabrics were unusual. They were lightweight and had a smooth finish, but the buttons, hook-and-loop closures, and zippers were familiar.

The man appeared as soon as I finished dressing, standing against the wall as he’d done before. How did he do that? I’d seen no door. He was just — there.

“This is your second waking period and much of the physical work on your body is complete,” he said. “There will continue to be mental changes, but physical changes will be so small now as to be undetectable.

“Starting today, you will begin to integrate your body’s muscles and nervous system through exercise. The transformations you’ve already experienced will add strength and coordination as your body and brain adjust to each other.”

“You mentioned that my body was breaking down in my previous life, that I would die. But I’m not about to die now, am I?”

“No. That body was unacceptable for our purposes, so we created a new one for you. We extracted your genetic code and recorded your memories before beginning the transformation. We retained most of those, because they held the key to your personality. Some that I considered unimportant were excised and others were added. I then regrew your body, using your genetic code but modifying it to delete harmful mutations and genetic defects, before instilling your own memories. That starter set has been augmented by the other memories I implanted. This was necessary to prepare you for your new life.”

“You did all this yourself?” I asked. Call me skeptical, but really, one patient, one doctor? No indeed, this facility was like no other hospital I’d ever heard of, but what kind of doctor treated only one patient? What did he or she do when not caring for me?

“I controlled the process,” he clarified. “I am one of several who are engaged in this activity, but most of what we do is carried out by machines. I emphasize, your memories are important for our purposes. Major changes in brain structure and growth of additional neurons would have left you without coherent memories. To prevent this, I provided what the machines recorded, along with the additional information I mentioned, to your new body as soon as the physical restructuring permitted.

“You’re physically equivalent now to what you were at age twenty. Mentally, I estimate that you will be approximately equal in cognitive ability to someone in his late thirties when the integration is complete. Your memories, however, will remain those of a man who lived a long time as your culture measured such things.

“The transformation is nearly finished now, needing only the final integration I mentioned. From this point on, the process depends on how much effort you put into it. The best advice I can give you is to work at it as if your life depended on how complete that integration is, because it does.

“When the process is complete you will be transplanted to a different timeline. You may die after being transplanted, but we cannot estimate when that will happen. It may be that you will live much longer than you expected, or you may die during the first day after transplanting. We cannot predict who will live, only that those who do will have the curiosity, determination, and will to survive that we seek.

“For our purposes, it does not matter who survives. Remember that you were terminal when we harvested you, so every day that you survive now is a day of life you would not have had.”

So much for this being a do-over! And talk about motivation! I would not skimp on whatever physical training they offered! “You said about age twenty as far as my physical development is concerned?” I asked.

“Just so,” he responded. “The concept has little meaning in your new life. It’s simply where I stopped development during your rehabilitation, at an age nearing the end of physical adolescence. In your time, such changes began at birth and continued until death. Early development made you larger and stronger as your body morphed from baby through toddler, child, and adolescent, before becoming adult. You are physically adult now, but barely so, and your age is optimal for further physical development.

“In your previous existence, you added experience and learning, but most physical changes were harmful. Your cells accumulated damage and some of the changes altered your genetic code. Your muscles weakened, joints became stiff, cartilage ripped, atrophied, and was resorbed. Over time the changes became so overwhelming that life was no longer sustainable. As a part of preparing your body to make you suitable for transplanting, I also removed the tendency of your cells for programmed death, but you should know that the changes cannot prevent future mutations.

“Radiation and chemical influences will be encountered after you leave here. I cannot predict those might be, or what will happen to you, except to repeat that your current DNA sequence contains no known weaknesses. Another way to state this is to tell you that you are less susceptible to genetic change, but less susceptible does not mean you are immune.

“It is no longer certain when you will die. Disease is unlikely to kill you in the near term, but we cannot be certain that a disease may not evolve in future which will end your life. The only assurance I can give you is that your own body will no longer kill you before an accumulation of damage cancels the work we’ve done. You can die from a multitude of other causes. Trauma, blood loss, drowning, a broken neck, those things can kill you. A knife or spear that pierces your heart, lungs, or brain will cause death. Given time, your body will heal from lesser injuries, but there’s no certainty that you will have the necessary time.

“Back to what happened to your previous body; physical changes within your brain caused later memories to fade, although your earlier memories remained nearly intact. I supplemented those memories with some that are generic, while others are highly specialized. It would not have been possible for you to acquire all the memories you now possess in a single lifetime.”

"Why me?" Not that I was ungrateful, but still!

"My analysis of your personality, gained initially from records but later by direct examination, persuaded me that you would be a suitable candidate. We have had to become more selective recently because so many early transplant efforts failed.”

I thought that over. “You say that you intend to ‘transplant’ me? Can you explain why you’re doing this?”

“Certainly,” he sighed, disappointed in my failure to simply accept what he was offering. “I am from your future, a descendant of yours, although the term is meaningless since so many generations have passed. You are one of hundreds among my direct ancestors.

“Do you understand the mathematics of this concept? You had two parents, four grandparents, eight great-grandparents. Generations became longer as people waited to produce children, but even so, more than eighty thousand persons who lived during your time are ancestors of mine. Should I go back a few generations more, I am related to everyone in your world. I gained a suite of genes from the genetic pool, just as all humans do, so in that sense we are all related. Some are more closely related than others, meaning that recent mutations are more likely to be shared, but since harmful mutations have been excised from the human genetic suite differences between individuals are less pronounced.

He sighed again. “Our science is more advanced, but despite all we’ve done humanity is dying. It may be that science has done too much. We have conquered deaths from what your time called 'natural causes', yet people continue to die. We don’t die from age or disease, but we also no longer reproduce. Earth’s human population is perhaps a tenth of the peak numbers reached in the 21st Century. Diseases, climate change, loss of natural habitat, famine, war, all played a part, but the main reason was unwillingness to replace losses through natural reproduction. Numbers continue to decline, and if this continues as it has done for more than a century humanity on Earth Prime will go extinct.

“We explored the solar system in the 22nd Century, but found nothing of more than transient interest. In fact, there is nothing on other planets that we need. We transform ordinary matter as needed and we conserve and recycle what we cannot transform. We might have established viable colonies throughout the system, but simply put, we lost interest in doing so. We believe that this is related to the decline in births

“We never went beyond the boundaries of the home system. Einstein’s limit prevented that at first, and by the time we gained the ability to evade that limit and colonize planets beyond the home system, it no longer seemed important to do so. As things now stand, the Earth provides all that we need, but our society has no future other than continuing decline. A few of us refuse to accept that inevitability, extinction. Simply put, we are attempting to change the future for our species. It would have been impossible except for a discovery, made late in the 23rd Century. Properly employed, that discovery may prevent extinction from happening.

"We now have the ability to harvest human specimens such as yourself from our past. Perhaps a thousand of us are engaged in this effort, and each of us accepts the responsibility for harvesting and preparing a subject for transplant. There are similarities in what we do, but also differences. The differences in method may be beneficial or they may be harmful, we cannot yet say which.

“That’s where you and the others like you come in. We place our transplants into a parallel timeline on an Earth where humans did not survive. We chose this because the Earth of that dimension is physically similar to our present world. Life there is hard, and there is danger. Survival will not be easy and we postulate that the unfit will not survive. For my part, I have prepared you to face known dangers and overcome hardships, but whether you do so is up to you.

“We believe that some of the transplants will succeed, but we accept that some, even among those we are transplanting now, will not. We cannot say which transplant has the qualities necessary for success. I have sent more than a thousand specimens to that dimension, my colleagues have sent as many, and some may have sent more. I have not yet begun harvesting the offspring of my transplants, but I will do so when I deem them ready. I will then prepare the selected individuals for transplanting here to my own world and time. We hope the harvested offspring will arrest the current decline, because realistically, it’s the only hope we have.

“We do not know what the eventual results of our experiment will be. The harvested and transplanted specimens may adapt to life here and become as the rest, content to live out their lives without ambition. We cannot say. Again, we hope they retain the drive and curiosity that we have lost. If we are fortunate, the transplants may even instill those qualities in our own highly-evolved population.

"We will continue the transplanting process and hope that it succeeds. It is worth noting that none of us who are engaged in harvesting or transplanting specimens have terminated our own lives. In the meantime, humans like you now live in a dimension where they did not naturally occur. They are as human as we are and they may survive, even if all humans on Earth Prime do not.

"Some of the dimensions we’ve explored have intelligent lifeforms that are different from what you are and what I am. We leave them to work out their destiny in their own way, and hope they feel the same once they develop the ability to cross dimensions. This, too, was a part of our reasoning when we decided to begin the transplant program. An aggressive population may resist attempts from cross-timeline invaders, where a passive population would not. We hope that your descendants will possess an enhanced sense of survival. There will also be other qualities that become emphasized by the environment you will find on the alternate version of Earth, and some of those qualities may not be advantageous. We will be as careful as possible regarding which specimens we harvest for re-transplanting to Earth Prime.”

“You’ve said that I could die from any number of violent processes. Will you help me avoid that?”

“No. We give you a healthy body, a mind that is well developed for your time and culture, and then we release you. We select a location where survival is possible, while avoiding extremes of weather or climate and places we suspect may be geologically unstable. You may choose to seek such places on your own, but that is a choice for you to make.

“You will be alone when I transplant you, but there are other humans within a reasonable distance. You may seek them out, or not; the choice is yours. Some will be male, some female. Some will have been there a considerable length of time, others may have been transplanted after you. I cannot say, because I do not know what the others engaged in this activity have done or what they will do in future.

“The time period on that alternate dimension is between glaciations. According to your reckoning, except for the lack of native humans, the conditions are similar to the late Pleistocene period on Earth Prime. Non-scientists call it the 'Ice Age'. Your knowledge of the past will be useful, but you should expect differences because some of the geological events there happened differently. Earthquakes here may not have happened there; volcanic eruptions there may not have happened here, and of course weather events such as hurricanes and tornadoes are unrelated. Our transplants have been, and will continue to be, transplanted to each of the major continents between 40º north and 40º south of the Equator. There are glaciers farther north and south of those latitudes.”

I was beginning to feel drowsy again. Then, with no further speech, he simply disappeared. I wondered if he was some sort of hologram or if his appearances were ‘in the flesh’, so to speak. I fell asleep while wondering.

***

I soon fell into a routine, much as when I was getting ready for summer drills with the Army Reserve. Wake up, use the bathroom, eat a light breakfast, then head into the well-equipped gym that opened off the bedroom through a door I hadn’t noticed before. I worked as much as I could during each session, took a break, had lunch, and worked again. Break for supper, shower and sleep, wake up, and do it again.

The days blended together, one like another except for variations between exercises and how much I could do. I worked machines, I ran, I exercised on a kind of ‘confidence course’, all solo. In fact, for all I could tell Earth Prime might be deserted. It didn’t matter; it was just me, the machines and obstacles, or a long run through gently rolling hills.

I was soon stronger and more agile than I’d ever been. After the first few — weeks? — I stopped gaining strength, but coordination, agility, and endurance continued to increase. There was no way to tell how long this went on, but it probably lasted months. While I was wiping sweat off at the end of one of my workouts, the man I’d talked with before appeared and looked at me. After a moment, he disappeared again.

The next awakening found me in possession of more memories. Some might have been my own, but some I was certain were of things I’d never done. Still, they were there; I wondered how long it would take to integrate them into my own memories, the ones I’d acquired at the cost of joy, sorrow, and pain before the Futurist (as he styled himself and his colleagues) had found me.

My ‘bedroom’ now contained a table, and a knife and an axe lay on it. The knife had a blade that was a bit more than three-eighths of an inch at its thickest and was about ten inches long, two inches wide at the guard and tapering to a wickedly sharp point. It had riveted wooden grips for a hilt and a small cross-guard separated this from the blade. A heavy pommel balanced the knife’s blade, which had a clouded, mottled appearance. I concluded that the knife had been made by repeated forging and folding to produce a strong blade that would take and hold an edge, while still retaining some flexibility. It was both tool and weapon; I liked the feel of it in my hand, and the edge was razor sharp. I tried shaving my arm and it easily removed the hairs.

The axe was larger than a hatchet, but smaller than a standard woodsman’s axe. I estimated the head would weigh about two and a half pounds, compared with four or five pounds for a full-sized felling axe. The haft was wood, about two and a half feet in length, and the back of the axe-blade was flat so it would be useful as a hammer. Call it a camp-axe, more useful than a hatchet, but not heavy enough to be as unwieldy as a full-size woodsman’s tool.

Some of my memories had to do with knives and axes, and some of them clearly were of places I’d never been and people I’d never met. For whatever reason, the memories left me pleased with the appearance and apparent usefulness of the tools.

How would I use that axe and knife after being ‘transplanted’? Pioneers in North America had considered themselves adequately equipped if they had an axe, a knife, and a shovel. I had no shovel and the axe was relatively small, but the knife was superb. Most primitive societies had lacked metal shovels; they’d made do with sticks or carved branches and those had worked well enough. The axe and knife could be used to make a shovel substitute when I was ready.

I thought about the tools, and realized that the people who’d had metal shovels and other tools also had ways to transport them. I hoped that the knife and axe would go with me when I was transplanted. I couldn't think of any other reason the Futurist had left them on the table. If so, they were a minimal tool kit which I could easily carry with me. Sensible choices, I realized.

The two were fine weapons, but too valuable to risk unless there was no other choice. I would need weapons that could be risked, even used up during an encounter. Those would necessarily be things I’d made and could make again if they broke.

A club, a spear, and eventually a bow and arrows would be needed. Maybe a thrusting spear with easily-replaced tips? A deep socket in the longer shaft, with several inserts? Stick an animal with one, pull back on the shaft leaving the insert behind, replace the insert — that would work, and I ‘remembered’ that a few primitive societies had something similar.

Meat or fish would provide protein. Vegetable protein would help, but I couldn’t count on finding it where the Futurist placed me. I would have to hunt or trap, and I would need to defend myself; opportunistic predators would relieve me of my catch if they could.

I could do it, but it would not be easy! And maybe that was the point of all this.

The Futurist appeared as soon as I laid the knife and camp axe back on the table. “Our work with you is done,” he said. “It is now up to you to make your way as best you can when you are transplanted. This will happen after your next awakening, and the tools you see will go with you. I will also provide a sturdy costume of undergarments, shirt, trousers, a belt, socks, and boots. The items are similar to what you have been using, and both the shirt and trousers have pockets. I will provide a leather scabbard for each of your tools. You may carry them in your hands or wear them when you are transplanted; the choice is up to you.”

“How long before I’ll be released?” I was somewhere between nervous and excited, but glad that the preparation was over.

“You will sleep first,” he said, “and when you wake, you will be provided food before you depart. Transplanting is quick, painless, and does not cause disorientation. You should consider what you will need to do immediately on arrival. While there will be no immediate danger, I caution you that it may not be far away so you should plan accordingly.”

I was getting drowsy again as he disappeared. So much for planning! I wondered how he did that disappearing act; I supposed that it was not important, but it would sure be a handy ability to have!

***

I woke up energetic and hungry. There was a meal ready, the same type I’d had before, and the clothes I’d been told about lay on the table. I ate the meal, whatever it was. I had never been able to identify the ingredients; the meals had been tasty and nourishing, and that’s all you could say for them. If one of the dishes was meat, I hadn’t recognized it as such. There were no obvious muscle striations or the connective tissue that separates individual muscles. Just…something vaguely meat-like.

I got dressed, hatchet on my left side, blade facing to the rear. The knife hung at my right hip. The tools felt comfortable hanging from my belt. Regardless of what the Futurist had said, I did not intend to take unnecessary chances! He had mentioned the Pleistocene epoch, and I knew from memory that the time featured apex predators such as dire wolves, giant bears, and saber-toothed cats. Even the huge bison, ground sloths, and mammoths were dangerous! As soon as I’d finished dressing, the man appeared.

“It is time. Come with me.” He walked toward a different part of the wall and another door opened. Beyond the door was a small chamber with no discernible features. It was simply blank; a floor, a ceiling, three walls, and a door that closed behind me as I walked through.

Another, larger, door immediately appeared where the opposite wall had been. Beyond it was tall grass, and three hundred yards or so away there were large trees. I stepped through the door, then glanced back, but there was nothing there.

I was alone.

I had near-perfect freedom. I could live or die, I could prosper or fail. I was a very small entity surrounded by a very large and dangerous world and there was no way back, even if I had wanted to go.

 

Chapter One

I had never felt so alone!

I was on Earth, but that didn’t mean much; a planet is huge to a man on foot. Based on the vegetation I was seeing, I could be anywhere in the temperate-to-subtropical zones. The Futurist said he transplanted his ‘specimens’ to North America and that helped a little, but even so that put me somewhere in a region measuring thousands of square miles.

I was not well equipped for survival, wherever I was. I had no shelter, no food, and I was wearing what the Futurist had provided. I also had a knife and an oversized hatchet, but other than that, I had a brain with real memories and some that had been implanted. I was young, healthy, and fit.

It was enough; it would have to be.

The time appeared to be late morning, judging by the sun. The temperature was comfortably warm, the air humid, and the sky was partly cloudy. A faint breeze stirred the leaves. Sinking down until my head was just above the bushes, I examined my surroundings.

The small clearing surrounding me was surrounded by trees, mixed hardwoods mostly, and low bushes and berry vines grew near the edge of the clearing.

Any feeling of safety gained from hiding in the bushes was an illusion! Crouching to remain concealed, I moved upwind. Only faint forest sounds were detectable, most of leaves that rustled in the faint breeze. Moments later, I picked out the faint sounds made by insects or birds and something far off made a chattering noise.

I stopped by a tree at the edge of the clearing long enough to gather whatever information was available, then moved farther into the forest.

None of the animals of this time had reason to be wary of humans. Some might flee, but others would attack as they attacked anything smaller and apparently defenseless. Darwin’s principle, survival of the fittest, controlled my life now and I was prey, not predator. Even rabbits were better equipped to survive, because they had better hearing, greater speed, more agility. I had a better brain, but at the moment that didn’t fill me with confidence.

My immediate needs were water, food, and shelter. As soon as those were satisfied, I would need fire and better weapons. Tools, another necessity, could wait, but providing for my immediate needs required that I be cautious. I was no match for the bears, cats, or wolves that preyed on the giant animals of the late ice age.

Carnivores of this time included the huge short-faced bear, as well as the grizzly of my timeline, plus saber-toothed cats, lions and wolves. This truly was a world where only the fittest survived, Darwin's World. I grinned; the Futurist had called his planet Earth Prime, now my Earth had a name too.

Water would be found downhill, so I eased away from my concealed position and moved cautiously down the slight slope. Streams would be my water source here, because springs, which probably provided better water with fewer parasites, were not commonly found in this type of southern lowland forest.

Moving air would carry my scent, so I watched the breeze’s direction. If a predator was downwind, I could expect him to follow his nose toward me. Not much of an advantage, but it was better than nothing. For my food needs, I would be a scavenger when possible and a grazer on berries, nuts, and vegetation until I could make traps and weapons.

I couldn’t chance losing my knife or hatchet! I would reserve them for close-in use only, and until I got better armament, my only options for avoiding danger were hiding, climbing, or running.

To start with, I needed a club, a spear, and strings. The club could be a simple piece of thick, heavy wood, and the spear would be crude because I needed something now and I couldn’t take the time to make a better one. The strings would be used for traps and snares, but they could also be woven into bags for carrying things. With traps and a spear to kill what I caught, I would become hunter as well as hunted.

The idea of hunting, of killing even a deer, was laughable! Sneak up on him and chop him with my axe? Stick him with my knife? More likely, the critter would stomp me into a bloody paste! Some bears could climb trees, but I could climb higher and farther out onto limbs that wouldn’t support the animal’s weight, so trees were my immediate refuge if I encountered a predator.

I soon spotted a sapling, tall, straight, and a little thinner than my wrist. The axe made short work of cutting through the trunk and trimming the top to length. A few additional chops left a sharp point at the thicker end and I had my first spear. Unlike the knife or axe, I could use the spear while remaining out of the animal’s reach, yet still be able to inflict lethal wounds.

There was a small stream ahead, but water sources are dangerous; predators drink from them, and often remain nearby to ambush prey. Nervous, I drank quickly by scooping water in a cupped hand, and even while drinking I remained aware of trees I could climb in a hurry.

A large tree stood thirty yards ahead of me, smooth of bark and with low, spreading branches. Fruit hung high in the canopy, though there was none on the lower limbs. Had something eaten the low-hanging fruit? The lack meant that the upper ones were probably edible.

Climbing the tree was awkward, but I wasn’t going to leave my new spear! Such a simple thing, but already I felt comforted by having it. If nothing else, I could use it to discourage any pursuit. The fruits were some kind of fig, smaller than the ones I’d eaten during my previous life, but they tasted better. Color told me which ones were ripe; green meant not-ripe, which also meant not tasty. My first attempt to eat an unripe fig left my lips puckered!

The tree divided into two main branches midway up the trunk. One of the two, about eighteen inches in diameter, had a smaller but substantial limb extending to the right, and another a few inches farther on that projected to the left. I chopped thinner limbs of the necessary length and wove them through the two branches, making a sturdy platform where I could sit while working. It would also serve for sleeping. The platform was not particularly comfortable, but at least nothing was going to approach unseen.

I sat down and began working on my spear. Trimming the shaft, I shaved away bark and some of the wood underneath, judging progress by eye. Half an hour later it was done; the finished spear was slightly longer than six feet, slightly tapered but less so than it had been when I cut the sapling.

It was crude; there was no other word for that first spear, but it was still better than nothing and I was no longer unarmed. The knife was too valuable, so was the camp-axe, but the spear could be used anytime and if it broke or was lost, I could make another one.

The forest around me wasn’t true jungle or rain forest, but the leaves of the plants beneath the main canopy were large and spreading. I could use them in a number of ways, including toilet wipes. Such would be necessary soon, because the figs had left me with an urgent need. I added the lesson to my memories; beware of eating too much fruit, and especially unripe fruit!

I climbed down, did what was necessary, and used some of the leaves to clean myself. I gathered handfuls of others before climbing back to my platform ‘home’.

I used a chopped off branch for a hammer and another limb for a work surface, beating more-or-less gently on the leaves until the long fibers separated from the matrix. I extracted as many as possible, then dumped the remaining material on my platform, making it smoother and more comfortable for sleeping. I was already tired, but that would have to wait. With enough fibers on hand, I began making string. The result was almost as thick as my little finger, fuzzy where I had spliced in fibers, yet strong. I now had a tool for immediate use and a possible weapon. I kept working, making more string that I could use for snares. Hunting is inefficient, requiring that the hunter and prey be in the same place, but setting out a dozen snares required only skill. I could learn the skill, and hunger would keep me focused.

***

I woke up hungry, but wary of eating more figs. They had not given me diarrhea, but I was certainly very loose! Still, the green figs had a kind of milky, sticky sap that I would use for sticking things together, so the experience wasn’t a total failure. I had a number of projects in mind and glue would be helpful.

Back at the tiny stream, I drank and examined the bottom carefully. A large rock near the edge looked promising, so I turned it over and grabbed a crayfish before he could scuttle backwards to deeper water. He managed to snap a pincer closed on my finger, but I repaid his impertinence by eating him raw. There were also insect nymphs in the leaf litter on the bottom and I ate those too. I was too hungry to be fussy.

Moving upstream, I crept around a small bend in the stream and found a small turtle sunning itself on a half-sunken tree trunk. The animal would provide a crude pot as well as a meal if I could catch it.

His head projected from the shell and I could see no way of getting closer without him spotting me, so I decided to try from where I was.

Easing slowly to my feet, I swung my spear shaft and knocked him onto the land, then grabbed him as he scrabbled to turn himself upright. A quick swipe with my knife ended that, and I tossed the head into the water. I wasn’t desperate enough—yet—to eat it myself, and leaving it where it was would attract a land predator. Water predators were welcome to it!

Raw, or cooked? I decided to cook the turtle, which meant I needed a fire. I knew the theory but had never practiced it. Start with finely-crushed dry material, scraped from inside a piece of fallen bark for tinder, and two dry branches for my tools. I shaved the straightest of the dried branches for an upright piece, then carved a starter hollow and a channel in the larger one that would lead sparks to my tinder.

I was ready to begin, the turtle was waiting, and I was hungry.

There are easier ways to make a fire, but they require things like flint and steel. I didn't have those, so I used what I had. Hold the stick upright with the point in the carved hollow, feet on the large stick to keep it stable. Palms on the sides of the upright near the top, then press downward hard while spinning the upright piece back-and-forth. My hands slipped down the stick, so I hurried to move them back to my starting point before the point and socket could cool.

Slow, but I had no place to go.

Eventually, I got a tiny spark in the tinder from the concentrated friction of the branch point rubbing inside the socket I’d carved. I raked the tinder around the tiny coal and blew carefully on the spark as the tinder smoldered. When the first tiny flame appeared, I carefully added small twigs. When they caught fire, I fed in larger pieces.

Humans love fire, other animals don’t. For the first time since I got to this world, I felt safe. My eyes smarted from the smoke as I prepared to cook my turtle, and no matter where I crouched the smoke followed.

I wasn’t yet prepared to drink the blood as a source of salt and additional nutrition! For now, I simply cleaned out the entrails. Turtles stink when the shell is opened, but I tolerated it just as I’d tolerated the smoke. I made a quick trip to the stream, dumped the entrails and washed the turtle thoroughly, then made a hasty retreat back to my fire.

The turtle was soon cooked, more or less, and I ate him. The bones were small, but I saved them. I would find a use for them at some point. I hardened the tip of my spear in the coals, then tied a sling on for easier carrying. Finally I scraped the live coals together and covered them with ashes, I hoped they would still be hot enough tomorrow morning to restart the fire.

I collected more birch-bark before climbing a tree to spend the night. Working in near darkness, I extracted the fibers and made more string, smaller but equally strong. Now I had enough for a safety loop to make sure I didn’t roll off the platform in my sleep.

The powdered bark remnants I scattered over the woven branches of my second platform home, then added a layer of green leaves on top for comfort. The trees offered concealment and a place to sleep in relative safety, plus a refuge from predators, but tomorrow, I would look for a better location where I could trap small animals and with luck, catch fish. I thought about how I would go about it and somewhere in there, I drifted off to sleep.

***

My first spear shaft had begun to dry overnight and it warped. Usable as a thrusting weapon, I thought, but throwing it was out. Chalk it up as a necessary quick expedient and a learning experience; the second one would be better.

The thin layer of mud I’d put inside the turtle shell had dried overnight, making a basin for carrying fire. I hoped to avoid making another fire from scratch, but I could if I needed to. Next time, I would use the string I’d made to make a fire drill, rather than depend on my still-tender palms. As for food, blackberries were in season and the ripe fruit proved tasty. This also told me that the season was sometime in early summer. It meant I could count on having at least four, maybe even six months before cold weather arrived, and finding food should be easy.

The oaks I’d seen included southern live oaks, easily identified by their wide spreading branches, and I’d seen magnolia trees too. In fact, the forest seemed familiar, the kind of country found in western Louisiana where I’d grown up. If so, the Gulf of Mexico should be to the south, and I might have a better chance of surviving winter near the coast. The fruits and berries wouldn't last, but there would be clams, crabs, and fish along the shore, easily caught.

Salt, another need, could be evaporated from seawater. I could head southwest, avoid the worst of the swamps, and maybe reach the Gulf within a few days. If that didn’t work, I decided I would go northwest. To the east lay hundreds of miles of thick forest, most of it like the area where I was, and offering no advantages. There were also huge rivers to the east, dangerous for a lone man to cross.

East was out, then, at least for now. As for north, it was a possibility, but the continental ice cap might still cover everything and I lacked any sort of cold-weather gear or practical experience surviving in the cold. I had ‘memories’, but only partial ones that had probably been implanted by the Futurists. I couldn’t afford to trust them.

Heavy forest, the kind where I now stood, was not my preferred habitat. Vision wasn’t particularly useful, because I could only see a few yards in any direction and a predator might be lurking just out of sight. Animals use scent and hearing more than sight in heavy forest, giving them an advantage. Many forest carnivores could climb at least as well as I could! The only real advantage that dense forest offered was temporary summer foods like figs, persimmons, berries, and nuts.

There was timber available for building shelter and making improved weaponry, but at the same time large game would be scarce. The forest didn't provide enough grass for grazing, and as for browsing animals like deer, there was too much cover to make hunting easy. I would also need to find other humans at some point, not easily done in heavy forest.

***

Routine took over. Travel, never remaining in one spot for more than a day, while looking for food. Sometime in late afternoon, find a safe place to sleep, then work on improving my equipment after I’d crafted a reasonably comfortable sleeping nest in a tree.

I made a net bag, using the cords I’d plaited. The first one was crude, with too-large spaces between the strings, but it would serve. Lining it with leaves helped. After spilling my ‘portable fire’, I learned to put my turtle shell with its live coals into the bag, tighten a drawstring around the top, then secure it to my belt before picking up my spear and heading southwest.

I had a better weapon now, the replacement for my early effort, and having it in my hand generated a lot more confidence than I’d had when I first arrived. The predators were out there—just because I hadn’t seen any so far meant I’d been lucky—so I was still wary. But depending on what found me, I had at least a chance of surviving.

Depending on weather, I was also prepared to sleep on the ground now if I had to and rely on my fire for protection. I hadn’t had a full night’s uninterrupted sleep since arriving on Darwin’s World, but early in my long-past military career, I’d attended the 7^th Army Noncommissioned Officer’s Academy in Bad Tölz, Germany. I’d learned that I could function with four hours of sleep a night, and I’d found the knowledge useful even after I got my commission.

The food I’d gathered was the sort of thing I’d have rejected in my earlier life, but it was keeping me alive and well-fed. My muscles had firmed up even more, and so far as I could tell I hadn’t lost significant weight. The clothing I’d been given by the Futurist still fit me and was holding up well. I still had much to learn, but I had adapted.

Darwin’s World was home.

 

Chapter Two

A month had passed since my arrival on Darwin's World.

The trail of a deer led me to a muddy salt lick. A lot of tracks were around the site, some from animals I didn’t want to encounter. I could maybe scare off a bobcat or a coyote, but anything bigger? I was the one who’d be scared off, probably into the nearest tree!

The salt was poor quality, as much dirt as salt, but I could probably do something about that. Soaking the mix, pouring off the liquid, then evaporating the water; that would give me usable salt, but for now it was too much work for too little result. Still, it meant I could find salt without going all the way to the ocean.

The creeks I’d encountered hadn’t been a problem, so far; in fact, they’d been very useful. The river off to my west had been useful as a guide to keep me on course, although I had never thought about crossing it, but the tributary I encountered that afternoon looked dangerous. It was larger than any creek and if there was a way to go around it, I couldn’t think of one.

The water ran sluggish, murky, and at least a hundred yards wide. It looked too deep to wade and I had no idea what might lie under the surface. Was the bottom quicksand? There was no way to tell without wading in, and if I blundered into trouble it might be too late to turn back. Might there be alligators, even crocodiles? I hadn’t seen any yet, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there! For that matter, were there ice-age predators I didn’t know about?

Swimming would be equally dangerous, and if I suddenly had to swim my boots would be a hindrance. Swimming while pushing my weapons and boots across on a small raft might work, but if I lost the raft I would then be barefoot and unarmed. I had a momentary vision of scrambling back to the bank, a crocodile in pursuit, while my equipment floated away downstream. Nope, not doing that! Should I carry my spear, or dump it in favor of making a better one after I crossed? I rejected that idea, because I might have immediate need for the spear on the far bank. It would have to go with me.

Building a raft and cutting a push-pole would take at least a day, maybe two, and then I would have to simply abandon the raft after it had served its purpose. A lot of work for not much gain! And there would be other tributaries farther south, maybe even bigger ones. If I had to stop at each river long enough to build a raft, I might not make it to the sea before winter set in. Not to mention that some of the rivers might simply be too deep to cross using push-poles.

A dugout canoe would be better, in that I would have directional control, but making one would require a lot more labor and time to construct. That investment would only be worthwhile if I intended to keep on using the craft afterward. I had no memories of making a birch-bark canoe, not to mention that I hadn’t spotted any birch trees. I could travel farther by canoe, even go upstream, but even so I could go only where the river flowed. I would also have to take time away from paddling or poling to hunt and gather edible fruits or nuts. Maybe, after I found a long-term place to live, I could take the time to experiment. But not now; I didn’t have the time!

By contrast, traveling on foot allowed me to forage along the way as well as choose my course. Wind direction was always a consideration, but adapting to it was automatic by now. So: I didn’t like it, but I would have to turn back. I could at least follow the river upstream and look for a safer crossing. Not the direction I had planned to go, but I didn’t have a realistic choice, and even this lesser-of-evils choice might have long-term consequences.

What if I couldn’t reach the seacoast before winter arrived? How bad would ice-age winters be in this forest, and without access to the fruits and nuts I currently relied on could I find enough another food source to replace them? There was no way to tell. My only chance was to try to make up the time I’d already lost. I couldn’t move faster, but I could take fewer breaks and not stop until just before twilight made travel too dangerous.

Starting about a week after I turned north, I began encountering low-growing palm-like plants that had leaves arranged in a fan shape. Each spear-like leaf had sharp edges and a wicked point, so I cut the stems and chopped off the sharp tips for ease in carrying. After stopping for the night, I removed the long, strong fibers from what I concluded were palmetto leaves. The fibers were much superior to what I’d harvested from other sources, so I decided that palmetto leaves would be the fiber of choice whenever I could find the plants. My strings and ropes were weapon, tool, and building material combined, and quality was important.

Leather or rawhide might be better than plant-fiber cords for some uses, but first I needed string in order to make the traps that would catch the animals. Each night after that, I hung my newly-twisted cords from a heavy limb, then added another limb to stretch them while they dried. The coils of finished cords I collected each morning were easy to carry in my woven bag, created from cords I’d made earlier.

Now that I had a plentiful supply of cords, it was time to add more meat to my diet. Hunting only works if you’re there when the animal is present, meaning that trapping or snaring is much more efficient. Rabbits, squirrels, and large birds were common if I could only catch them. They’d found it easy to avoid me so far, but now I had the means to build efficient traps. I might even catch a raccoon. I had seen tracks near the streams, and if I smoked the meat it could feed me for three or four days!

My deadfall traps, no more than heavy tree trunks suspended over a trigger, hadn’t caught anything up to now, and I was ready to give up on them. I already had enough cords to put out at least a dozen loop snares each afternoon, so hopefully my trapping success would improve. More traps and better traps should result in more catches. Picking good spots was easy, because there were many visible paths that small animals followed. Just pick one with an overhanging bush or branch, suspend a slip-knotted loop in the middle of the trail, and wait for a small animal to hang itself.

My life settled into routine. Get up each morning, take care of personal necessities, then drink water from a gourd I’d cleaned by swishing dry sand around the inside. Breakfast was whatever I’d caught during the night, augmented by leftover cooked meats from last night’s supper, plus edible roots, greens, and fruit. Check the wind direction, look around for danger, then move out to the northwest. My actual course was determined by the wind and the terrain, and the big river off to the west originated somewhere to the northwest, so I kept it off to my left whenever possible.

There were times when the river looped, and I ended up just striking out on my own. If I found myself going east, so be it. I hiked longer each day before stopping and still found time to set up camp and put out my snares. Weather had become more of an annoyance than a real problem. There were times when I huddled under a spreading canopy to wait the rain out, but given enough warning I built a tree shelter. Branches, arched, tied, and overlapped shingle-style with leaves, made a fast and easy roof, and adding a cover over my sleeping platform kept me mostly dry as well as safer.

If birds and small animals ate fruits, I figured that was safe enough to at least try them. Some I liked, some I tasted only once. The only things I refused to eat were mushrooms. Knowledge of which varieties were safe had accumulated as people got sick or died, and I wasn’t hungry enough to experiment.

The blackberries were gone now, most eaten by birds or small animals, but a bush huckleberry had ripened. They weren’t as large or as tasty as the blackberries, but they were easy to pick and the fruit provided a pleasant snack. I was eating well, in part because I couldn’t afford to be picky. Even grubs are protein; just pinch off the head, squeeze out the nasty innards, and swallow without chewing.

Among the tracks of large birds (turkey?), rabbit, squirrel, and raccoon, I saw a few large cat tracks. It might be a puma, and if so I wasn’t particularly worried. Pumas, sometimes called panthers, tend to be ambush predators and aren’t likely to attack a full-grown man. On the other hand, it might be a jaguar or some kind of cat I didn’t know about, and some of the big cats could climb trees. Even so, one would find it difficult to creep out onto the limbs where I slept without waking me.

Giant lions and saber-tooth cats lived in North America at the end of the Pleistocene, but supposedly they couldn’t climb trees. Face a saber-tooth on a tree limb with a wooden spear? No, thank you! A panther, though? Hold my spear in my left hand and poke him with the point, and if that didn’t discourage him the axe blade I held in my hand certainly would! Especially if he was distracted long enough for me to plant my axe blade in his skull!

***

A fist-sized rock, found near the stream, gave me an idea. Cutting a thick branch from an ash tree I spotted that day, I tied a cord to it and hung it over my shoulder. That evening, after I’d finished setting up camp, I carefully split the end and stopped further splitting by wrapping the shaft with strong cords. I worked the rock into the split, then strengthened the joint by wrapping it with more cords. As a final step, I coated the joint with milkweed-sap glue to make it stronger. Similar easy-to-make hafted stone clubs had been used by early humans, and they work a lot better than hand-axes or hammerstones.

By contrast, the point of my spear was relatively fragile. Useful, of course, but the club was almost equally so and it was certainly not fragile! Best of all, if either weapon broke I could make another. Cherts, flints, and similar rocks could be chipped to create an edge, assuming I found any. I hadn’t yet, but I recalled that they were more common farther north.

Armed with spear and club, I was now ready to try living on the ground. Trapping, cooking, and other activities took place on the ground anyway, so living where I worked made sense. Fire would be my primary protection, backed by my club and spear, but if I lost the fire I would be forced back into the trees.

My new traps were easy to construct. Straight sticks, laid crosswise in a hollow pyramid, were held together by tension. Strings, attached to each end of the bottom two sticks and stretched to the ends of a bow-stick across the top, provided the tension to hold the contraption together. Figure-four triggers, easily carved from three branches, supported one side of the trap, and tossing bits of bait around the trigger-stick finished the job. With practice, building and setting such a trap took only a few minutes work. Most days, the traps caught birds, but now and then they caught a squirrel who hadn’t had time to gnaw his way out.

Small birds I released, the larger pigeon-like birds I gutted and skinned. The legs and wings were too small to provide much nourishment, so I ended up keeping the breasts. Attach them to a skewer, suspend it over my fire, and within a few minutes I had a nice snack. Snares, set out each afternoon when I stopped, took even less time to make and they were reusable, so I usually set out twenty or more. As a result, rabbits soon formed the core of my diet.

Fish, crustaceans, rabbits, birds, raw shoots and roots, these things kept me alive, but I hungered for different foods. If you’ve ever eaten a cattail root, you’ll understand. It’s survival food. but certainly no gourmet treat! Dandelion leaves and thin green shoots from milkweed plants are edible too, but both are an acquired taste and one I intended to un-acquire as soon as possible!

***

Farther to the west, a chunky animal that looked to be a kind of cross between a bull moose and an Irish elk grazed.

The beast was huge, with a body colored dark brown, except for a faint dappling of lighter spots, and a cream-colored belly. Longer hair, so dark as to be almost black, covered the withers and extended down over the shoulders creating a kind of mane. Heavy, palmate antlers extended forward and to the side, and long tines extending from the flattened sections. A pair of main beams extended rearwards, while two beams with shorter and wider flats pointed forward. The elklike rear antlers protected the animal’s back from predators, while the forward palmations and prongs gave it offensive weapons.

A slim, leather-clad figure slipped silently through the trees, moving easily to avoid the underbrush. A slight movement of the hand cautioned two others who followed some ten yards behind the leader.

The animal fed on unaware as the lead figure brought up a crossbow and took careful aim. The buzz of the string was followed immediately by a solid thump as the bolt punched into the rib-cage behind the beast’s shoulder. It sprang forward, then stopped, head hanging. Finally, with a loud, rattling sigh, the animal collapsed. The two followers moved forward toward, only to be interrupted by a hissed command, “Stay back until I get this thing reloaded!”