One of the outlying thumpers has stopped functioning. The thumper line marks the extent of your tribe's territory - the large, rudimentary pylons constantly thumping the ground with a rock weight. The thumpers disturb the ground and make a tremendous noise, collapsing the tunnels and deafening the long ears of any rabbit that tries to burrow under. If they get inside, they'll run rampant, gorging themselves on the harvests and breeding like wildfire.
The thumpers form a roughly circular perimeter two hundred miles in length - there is some overlap, so that if one goes down, the neighbouring thumpers will hold the line until the broken one is up-and-running again. Even still, it should be fixed swiftly.
The leather strap of the rifle slung over you shoulder sits uncomfortably between your six breasts as you set out cross country, your long legs swiftly eating up the miles as you stride to your destination, a blot of bright orange and black fur moving across the green wilderness, a part of the world that in other realities would rest inside a place called India. It is nearing the end of the dry season, is hot and and humid, and you're naked apart from the satchel around your hips that contains your tools (and your fur of course).
Soon the top of the thumper comes into view over the forest canopy. It is a wide column of stone sticking twenty metres into the sky. The inside is hollow, containing a lead weight on a rope that is constantly winched up to the top of the column, whereupon the mechanism releases and sends the weight slamming into the earth, to repeat over again. It isn't a complicated machine, it was constructed to last. If they go down, it's usually sabotage.
The thumper stands silent and unmoving. As you near it, you unsling the rifle and proceed cautiously, your limbs moving with a silent, smooth grace despite their size. The rifle is a reassuring weight, it has been in your family for generations and is your most prized possession. Sliding through the foliage, the clearing that surrounds the thumper opens out before you.
An amused, relieved trill escapes your throat. It's no precursor to a canid attack, like you had feared. A number of human animals are clustered around the base of the thumper. They gape up at the structure in pure, dumb awe.
You like humans, though you've neither the time nor the patience to house and train one yourself, not with work as it is. You like their slow, docile natures, and the silly way they waddle about on their stumpy little legs. Your sister breeds them. She's constantly trying to fob you off with the runts of the litters, but you're happy enough just to play with them.
Sneaking forward so as not to alarm the creatures, you see that these are not wild nor feral animals, they've evidently escaped from their owner's home. For starters, they're far too clean to be wild. Plus they're wrapped up in fabric. You hate people who dress up their pets.
Your ears swivel forward, picking up their low, hooting cries. They almost sound like they're talking to one another.
"Tell me again how this is a natural rock formation," the large male says.
The female hoots back angrily, "If you're looking for an apology,-"
"And the things that looked like roads, those were just dried up river beds, yeah?"
"You've made your point. By all means, shut up now."
"And those weird radio noises that sounded like transmissions, those were just electromagnetic distortions in the atmosphere caused by solar flares. I mean, clearly you know best with your fancy degrees an' all. I'm just the dumb-as-bricks security guy." The male hoists a stick onto its shoulder, casting a furtive glance around the clearing. You duck down into the undergrowth. "That's it, we're done here. Get your equipment together and stop fucking poking it. We're leaving."
"We are not leaving!" the female mews shrilly. "Look at this thing! Mark, tell him."
A much scrawnier, paler human creature crouched down by the winching mechanism gives a shrug.
"I am looking at it, Professor. Clear evidence of habitation, meaning that under the quarantine act of 2014 we are required by law to evacuate immediately back to the portal and await a proper, armed investigative team from the government."
"Oh, fuck the government," the female in the long white garment screeches back heatedly. "This could be the find of my career."
"This planet could be dangerous."
"Don't be such an idiot. This thing is made of stone and lashed together with vines. Whoever built this was probably even stupider than you, and clearly hasn't even made it out of the stone age. We're perfectly safe."
Lifting the rifle sights to your eye, you gasp as the x10 magnification zooms in on the animals, as they continue to yabber incomprehensibly. Pedigrees! The female has a short mane of red hair and the two males, while less enticing, still display the pale skin seen only on the expensive, imported animals from the far West. A thought runs through your head - if you can capture one of these pedigree humans, your sister will love you for it.
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