Sunday November 12, 2006

Book 8: The Sharp End of the Stick
Part III: Out of the Frying Pan...


Narrator:Commander Kevyn Andreyasn is awake now.
Kevyn:Okay, time for inventory.
Kevyn:I don't know how I got here, and I don't know who else might be here with me.
Kevyn:I'm pretty sure something tried to eat me, and somebody buried me, but I don't remember any of that.
Kevyn:I have a butt-flap that looks like it was cut from a dead animal by somebody using a sharp rock, and I have the two sticks someone used for my headstone.
Kevyn:Summary: I am naked, alone, and talking to myself.
Kevyn:Instincts likely arising from my Y-chromosome tell me the solution is to build a fire.
Kevyn:Flint and steel would work. I could probably find the necessary components, but I will need fire to smelt the ores into serviceable steel. . . Which means this line of thought just went recursive.
Kevyn:I could make friction matches, but I would need to distill several chemicals, and that means having fire already handy, again with the recursion.
Kevyn:What was that guy's name, with the lightning? Benjamin Frankenstein? If I had enough string, and fabric for a kite, and a thunderstorm. . .
Kevyn:. . . I could probably electrocute myself.
Kevyn:I've got no infrastructure. I don't need to make fire. I need to invent the stuff.
Kevyn:Oh, hey. Two sticks.