This is a sample of the indigenous futurism story I am working on. If I came into enough money to not need to work for money any longer, this is the first project I would work on, starting with a trip back to Turtle Mountain again. The story is set in the future. The story is a report back to a Japanese corporation by a visitor to Turtle Mountain (Mekinauk Wudjiw) in the form of a series of oral histories. The bracketed numbers are ((3) for example) are references to footnotes.
One — Humility
I speed above the fields of shining spheres on the edge of our Aki, (1) looking for an answer. Riding on a set of spheres is not new to me and I appreciate this now that I am in a hurry. Nookomis (2) wouldn’t like this, but I’m hunting. We could call it training. Sure, it’s training… set to music.
The gashkigs (3) look at me with their blank faced concern, but their programmed impotence is evident enough for them to turn back to their tasks once they realize my trajectory won’t disturb them. Some folks treat them as people, but I think that’s stupid. I get it. They want to practice humanity even when it’s not required to proceed. Nothing is required, but removing the obstacles which keep you from going forward.
I think I’m going in circles now.
I know I’ve been in this spot among the kilometers of spheres of all sizes reflecting the sun back at me, but something keeps drawing me back here. I circle back, set the open spheres on a self-control preset figure eight, and zoom my search lens in tight. Looking. Searching. Nothing. I stop and throw up my lenses, switch off the audio, and dare to tilt my head up toward the sun.
“I would not advise that, friend.” the cool, staid voice chimes in my ear conch.
“My eyes are closed, gashkig!”
“Very well. May I assist you, friend?”
Why didn’t I think of that? Maybe I wanted to find it myself. Pride. I don’t even know. “Why not?”
“I do not know the answer to that, friend. Possible answers are: you are embarrassed, you—”
“I’m not embarrassed!”
“Very well. May I assist you further, friend?”
I had gotten over the gashkigs calling me “friend” long ago. It’s just their programming. What bothers me is the asking to help. It’s programmed, as well. They don’t want to help. It’s just their programming. That’s not the kind of “friend” I need.
“I’ll find it myself.”
“Very well.”
The gashkig turns back to its work maintaining the shields, having fulfilled its protocol. I turn back to the blinding light reflecting at my eyes. Why isn’t the gashkig concerned about that light? That’s some programming that should be corrected. Noted. I’ll circle back to that later. For now I need to fulfill my protocol. I call up more music and dash northward into the reflection of the solar shields. Even with my lenses automatically darkening as needed, I can’t see anything.
Feeling the rising heat challenging my anokiiwear coveralls, (4) I sweat despite the cool air filtering through my outfit. Realizing my error of approach, I speed north, behind the slight tilt of the shield floating above the fields. They wave in my wake like the grain growing in the middle circle around Aki. They readjust and tilt back to optimal position to gather in the solar energy that powers our lives. The gashkigs look up and back down as I pass, without the time to engage with their new “friend.”
Once back far enough, I elevate to the maximum height and tilt far into a deep lean southward so I can see down between their faces perpendicular to their sun catching circles. These modified half spheres aren’t made for this type of action, but I don’t let that stop me. (5) Hovering like a tilted hummingbird I slowly move back to where I am sure I can find my quarry. It is like hunting! I am fully justified! Aaniish naa, (6) Nookomis! It’s training… set to music.
Scanning the ground beneath I start to lose focus. I set my lenses to search for preset abnormalities in the image, but I find a lot of false positives. I know Rose wants me to be looking with my eyes. That’s part of the challenge, but why limit myself when I have these other resources available?
Just when I think I spot something in the grass, I tip just a bit too far beyond what the automatic adjusters can compensate for and I’m inverted and spinning around. Flopping back and forth, I would prefer not to be magnetically attached to the to the silver hemispheres.
“Full stop!” The thrusters cut off and I fall down in the dirt, the shields parting and resetting above me. Ouch.
Just before I throw up my lenses, I see a flash of color. Flipping the lenses back down, it’s clear. There’s something alright. I’m digging in the dirt and grass again when a preset misting falls from the shields, soaking me.
“Di leu!” I exclaim as if speaking of the water will stop it or my embarrassment. “You should see this, Rose!” I was glad she could not hear me or see me soaked in the growing mud patch.
“Contacting Rose Cree,” the gashkig alerts me. It must have not heard the beginning of my sentence and was proceeding to connect me with Rose.
“Disregard,” I said reflexively. How many times have I said that command? I had generally learned not to talk, but still words slip out. Something in me must want to talk with her.
“Very well. May I assist you further, friend.”
“No. That is all.”
My communication set alerts me to Rose’s call.
“Yes?”
“You called?” she sweetly says.
“I did not. The gashkig did.”
“Are you okay?”
I am touched that she is concerned. “Yes. Just relaxing beneath some solar spheres.”
“Oh, you’re getting close! Hey, is that the sound of rain? I didn’t know it was raining.”
“You are not helping.” She actually is helping.
“Well, minose.” She is taunting me now. Minose means “it goes well” or something like “good luck” but the -se means to fall or happen quickly. She must have figured I fell.
“Minose to you, too. See you in anishaa class.” We have these anishinaabemowin classes every fifth day, but we call them “anishaa” because that means “just kidding” or “not seriously” and we don’t take it seriously or at least we pretend that we don’t. Whenever we say anishaa, Nookomis just shakes her head and turns back to her work, making sashes. I never see her stop working on something. I guess I come by it naturally.
Rose says I’m a hot head and it’s not just because of my natural red hair. That was probably why the water system engaged. I raised the heat level with my digging and the preset systems switched on. Rose is going to love that.
The solar spheres are self regulating. They act as protection and power source. The gashkig perform all the maintenance on the shields and themselves, even manufacturing all the parts and assembling them. These shields connected up to share the water in their systems and drench this hot spot. At least I’m cool now.
The water finally turns off, but washes away just enough dirt to reveal the coin. I wipe off the mud and read the raised message before the eyes of a person with feathers and braids looking off to the right:
KANTEUR
Storyteller? I turn the coin over to observe its obverse. The message curves on the top of the coin:
MAANTEUR
I could have predicted that. The liar. I get it. Two sides of the same coin. Even though we don’t use money anymore, the saying persists. Strange how some things persist despite time moving on without them. Or maybe we just change their place among things.
Below the word is the image of a muskrat. Nice. That’s my name. I’m named after the hero of our creation story. An unlikely hero, but a hero nonetheless. No one calls me Wazhashk or Raa Doo. It’s Radio, like the ancient tech. I can still hear some radio on my communications set if I request it right. Mostly it’s music from Magic City in the West like what I’m listening to now. I don’t listen to the local stuff so much — that’s for the old folks.
I’m about to turn it off so I can concentrate when the song mentions “where the buffalo roam” and I remember seeing a buffalo on the back of the coin instead of a muskrat. I know it was a muskrat, but I remember a buffalo. When I turn the coin over, the muskrat is still there. Was it the suggestion of the music? But the memory was so clear. I need to ask Rose what that was all about.
This was too easy to find. But it is a clue leading me to the next clue. And the fun is just beginning.
Solomon Everta 