The Pole Shift

Perez

Perez watched Macka through the eyes of a drone.  The old Master looked on with mixed emotions as the ex-operative made his way up Mt Buffalo. The mountain was under the predicted wash and grind of the Pole Shift and he would not be stopped by 'those in high places'. There were various sets of survivalists that had set up around the mountain's plateau, but Perez had no doubt Macka would be able to handle them.  Most would be washed from the low mountain anyway and once new oceans settled, Mt Buffalo would be a bald flat island,  part of an archipelago that would stretch along Australia's ancient east coast mountain range.

                Perez made a motion with his hand and Macka was projected as a hologram on the desk. The man moved up steep terrain, dressed for winter even though it was still warm. On his back there was a rolled tarpaulin, and crossing that was an M1A. The riffle was an effective combat weapon and wouldn't draw a lot of attention when hunting.  Perez nodded then said to the empty room:

                "Any other weaponry?" Prophet replied as a voice from the mirror on the wall, it was using the flat glass as a speaker.  Perez wore no crystal.

                "Fixation Bowie and a Push Knife."

                "Ammunition?"

                "200 rounds."  Perez knew Macka had caches hidden in nooks on Mt Buffalo, caches that went back twenty years. The man would be able to survive as long as the grind didn't catch him, it would skin Mt Buffalo bare, most of the survivalists would be washed away, ground up and deposited as top soil on new shores. Perez knew Macka understood this, and he had no doubt that Macka knew about the cave system within the Mountain.

                It was not the norm to let one of their servants have a go at surviving a Pole Shift.  It had been done before of course, this age being no exception.  Perez mused for a moment, remembering the stories.

                The new civilisation were bent,

                for the old servants lived.

                Would he be blamed for letting a fox in with the chickens? If Macka survived he might. Perez grimaced,  they need their demons, there is no utopia without the devil. The argument was as ripe with the Masters as it ever was and the old disagreement burned fresh whenever a Pole Shift was due.

                "Will he make it?" He asked the mirror. There was a long pause as a nest of algorithms worked together collectively as Prophet's thoughts. Checking scenarios, cross checking them against Macka's strengths and weaknesses. Matching behaviour to known future conditions.  Perez regarded himself in the mirror whilst he waited. He looked into his own eyes. Greenman, Wildman his eyes said.  In the reflection he watched Macka disappear under a rock overhang, then reappear in infrared. The white image was at pause, then digging. He was at one of his caches.  Finally the mirror vibrated.

                "Yes. 7 chances out of 10." The AI had calculated many thousands of scenarios. Perez supposed Macka would get into the caves. He would be holed up for a long time, it would be interesting to watch.

                Perez touched his face. He knew Lett was heading towards Macka. Prophet would lead her to him. Prophet would help her with whatever she decide to do. The two meeting  was not something he approved of, if they formed a team they would be too much, too powerful.  They might subjugate and rule before people were ready.  Ideas and thoughts would survive of this age, stories. They needed traits to survive, not culture. They had carefully selected the chosen ones for the innate behaviour they displayed. Sean's sloth, Lett's pride. Mnem and her dream mind. The kid, Jimmy, a leader.

                Suddenly he exhaled a tremendous breath. Perhaps he was making a mistake. He closed his eyes and  let a very ancient part of his brain draw electricity. Blood raced to his hindbrain, and he began to think in pictures and not words. He saw the sun and the moon, and the forests reborn.  Oceans beat on new shores. Human's starting again, hunter gatherers, then farmers, hamlets then towns. He smiled, but in the woods dangerous eyes looked on at the new peoples and his smiled faltered. Finally he looked into the mirror and said:

                 "We need those eyes." It was Saturday morning. Everything was shaking.