The Great Golden Ships

The lines of the yacht drifted off into the distance, somehow abandoning the eye. Because it was so large it seemed to move very slowly. Its surface dully reflected the land below. Beneath it, the savages paused in their battles, their foraging and rutting; they woke from their sleep as it roared silently above them. They gazed up and hunted after the huge sound they could not quite hear. Within the yacht, the yachtsman came to. He tilted his head and breathed out gently through his nose. By instinct he trimmed the great star engine with gentle movements and the yacht drifted on the dance of the breeze.

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On the ground, two savages gripped each other in a final embrace, the tip of a spear just piercing a muscular abdomen, the owner of the spear pushing down on the owner of the abdomen, the two of them grunting in a reversed tug of war, sweat and blood glistening on the blade of the spear and down the ridges of the tummy whose owner's arched brows twitched with effort as he lay contorted on his back, as he catches site of the great yacht as it smoothes over head and frames the head of his enemy. It looks like a pointed, golden crown.

The spearman notices his enemy's distraction and, discombobulated by this absence in the final moment, turns and stands and looks up at the yacht. His enemy stands besides him and the two of them stare upwards at the yacht. It slips overhead, slow and frighteningly quick, a great dissembling mass disguising its scale.

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Before long the yachtsman had them brilliantly organised. Their brutishness made gratitude difficult for them, but there was certainly a hopeful watchfulness in the way they bent beneath the yacht. It had founded in the side of a long range of craggy hills. His instinctive, telepathic-seeming control of the thing had in a single instant deserted him utterly and it had dipped into the earth with a great yawning sound. Shortly after he had regained consciousness for the first time he had spotted the first of them, far off, peering out from a stand of bracken and thorn. He had tried to lift himself where he had been thrown, but he slipped into unconsciousness once more. When he awoke again there was a mass of them around the yacht. They smelled terrible, dressed in rabbitskins and armed with sticks and knives. He felt bitterness rise in the back of his throat as they touched the yacht, smearing their filthy hands down its silver flanks, but his instinct was to befriend them. He had fine wine and delicious food in the hold, he now recalled.

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After a number of years a group of young savages, whom the yachtsman had seen born and was distantly fond of, were caught stealing from the hold. This diminishing supply was very strictly rationed to rare occasions of high reward and he sensed a general anger towards the thieves amongst the savages. His own anger grew over the days he deliberated over the suitable punishment of the young thieves. They had, in their haste and terror at being apprehended, dropped a particularly fine bottle which he had been saving for himself. He became increasingly irritated that the savages should presume to share his loss. What was lost was not theirs, it was his. He could give a little of it to them now and then or he might not, but they did not have a right to it. He could have chosen to have landed his craft anywhere, but they had come to view the items in the hold as theirs as much as his.

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The great stone stood at the heart of the dismantled yacht. The once pure silver and gold flanks were tarnished. They were laid out fan-like from the heart of the crash site, and the brutes lived amongst these shards in shacks and lean-tos constructed from skins and wood and bits of the broken yacht. On the great stone was carved: 'Endeavour is Goodness'. The yachtsman sat busily next to it, tirelessly directing the labour of those about him.

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One of the brutes struck him as disturbingly watchful, and his grunts and ticks seemed to be beginning to carry increasing meaning to his fellows. This developing communicativeness was in its way quite useful, because he had only to succeed in conveying an instruction to this one and it was disseminated quickly and effectively to the others, which saved him much time and effort. But on the other hand it worried him because it meant he would lose control of an instruction the moment the fellow had it. This had already lead to one disaster.

He had spent a morning patiently gesturing to this developing savage that he wanted a heavy section of the yacht swung across the hill somewhat. It would provide shelter to a group of them and also keep them downwind of his own quarters within the heart of the yacht. He spent several edifyingly patient hours putting across the requirement, the other fellow shaking and dipping his head and frowning and beating the earth in frustration. The yachtsman had spotted the problem the moment strolled back to his own quarters. Another, even larger piece of the ship was resting precariously against the first. No amount of arm waving and shouting could stop the message now and the larger piece fell on seven of them, killing five outright by crushing them and pinning two, who keened and wailed and pleaded. The other savages ran uselessly around them and beat at the great silver slab. The one who took instructions flayed his own hands against the yacht as he attempted to save his fellows, but they died also. From then on, whenever he was required to receive instructions the communicative savage concentrated with an even greater intensity. This intensity disturbed the yachtsman.

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The yachtsman's resentment of this watchfulness grew. Every other fleeting glance he received seemed to be accusing, or doubtful, or fearful and he missed the admiration and hopefulness that was now frequently absent. He found himself singling out the most regularly accusing ones for more strenuous work, and in turn they began to cower as he approached. The communicative savage bellowed at them when they did not immediately respond to their instructions, gesturing to those around them. Some of the most put upon ran away.

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The punishment he decided upon for the young thieves was this: none, not one of the savages would be allowed to enjoy the provisions in the hold, ever again. This ruined the young thieves amongst their own.

Deprived even of the possibility of sharing in the provisions within the hold, the savages became feckless and unmanageable. Though now he dreaded the sight of them, and had determined to cut himself off from them, their increasingly unruly behaviour demanded ever more of his time lest anarchy take over. His punishments became more and more severe as he lost any sympathy with them. He felt his own tyranny gnaw at him. They gave him looks when they thought he couldn't see, cowed and hateful.

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In the end he left them to it, retired deeper within the broken heart of the ship, and drank wine, became drunk; in a short time he died. The savages lived amongst the wreckage, and for as long as he survived in living memory, they awaited the new yachtsman. Eventually the memory of him faded from day to day life.

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Eventually, the savages began to prosper, and they grew knowledgable and successful; they learned how to manipulate their land, and how to divide it up. The wisest of them put their children to sleep in great golden ships, and sent them off into the sky.

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