by Sven Klöpping
Translated by Michael K. Iwoleit
They call me Buddha. Which is kind of paradoxical because I’m the best hunter far and wide and not the least inclined to follow the Noble Eightfold Path. I move forward cautiously. The animal must not hear me. The jungle is very densely vegetated here and expansive, but behind it – I know that from my previous life – the tunnels, factories, and mines of the Mars Company already begin. Since we have terraformed the formerly red plant many thousands of years ago, we – consciousness patterns – live in constantly switching bodies. It’s a game that the survivors of the blue planet, devastated long ago, have conceived. Actually it’s not just a game, more of an evolutionary system that protects and maintains the variety of nature and life. Fifty huge machines hover above the planet and transfer us, based on a refined random procedure, into another body when our time as come. The system decides when it’s required and when our time is up. At least that’s what most of the other humans think. I personally have tried in most of my lifes to discover a deeper meaning behind all the random generators, higher level reality loops, and soul transplantations – that’s how I got my name. Even though I’m a hunter, I know that everything is inspirited and has a common origin. You might call it the great “We”. Because we – we are the consciousness copies of the last Terrans that, in a desperate rescue attempt, have been evacuated to Mars ages ago. They didn’t have any chance on Earth anymore – too many environmental disasters and wars had rendered it uninhabitable for humans. Only robots and androids live there now. No human soul. We are all on Mars now that has become a kind of second chance for life – a hodgepodge of most diverse life forms, even such that originally didn’t come from Earth. We all try to get along peacefully, but it’s not always possible. This is why I have decided for the hunt in this life. I pursue a panther currently, because these damned big cats frequently kill our cows, sheep, and xings. But this will end now. Some of the souls have united and formed a kind of alliance against poaching. When we are in the bodies of jungle inhabitants, we hunt. For the sake of all settlers, for a safe life in love and harmony. Because luckily we are supra-physical, so we can always remember what we have been previously and stick firmly to our principles. But there are also dark spots in our memory … a mystery of the soul swapping system.
I stalk through the scrub, following the trace of the panther that I’m sneaking after for several hours now. He’s very deft, knows very well that I’m on his tail, so he constantly changes direction, walks through creeks, erases his traces. Pretty clever for a big cat. I’m still on his trail, though. And I will bring him down, simply because he’s too hungry for my taste. When I have killed him, the jungle will do the rest for me, because we don’t eat cat meat. My hand trembles slightly. It holds nothing but a simple lance, because any kind of modern weapons are strictly forbidden on Mars. We don’t want to cause a second apocalypse like on Earth. Modern technology is only used for the common good here, for example in the mines or the deuterium enrichment plants. You can become very rich, but also lonely and crazy. I’m none of that, I’m simply Buddha – the guy who believes in a higher level soul loop. And if you others are for once honest with yourself, you have to admit that this belief is the only plausible. After all, why should the robot brains, who are programmed to care for the common good of all living beings, have programmed something so arbitrary into their system? They could have left everything to chance and evolution in the first place, without consciousness copies and soul changers …
I scurry past a few manta bushes whose giant, wing-like leaves provide enough protection to follow the trace without being noticed by other predators. This leads me further away from the village, straight into the green depths of the forest, into the planet’s twilight. The light cones from above sway here with the crowns of the giant trees that majestically stretch towards the sun. The trace is still fresh, not even two minutes old. I squat down, pick up the scent. I smell clearly the fur of the cat that hides on some branch or behind some snake shrub, mocking me. But not with me. I wet the wings of my nose on the inside with some saliva and so can smell the right direction soon. The scent leads me slightly to the right, into a mahogany thicket. I move my head swiftly into all directions, because I have to be constantly worried about my own life here. There are vast numbers of soulless snakes, insects or poisonous frogs who are no soul changers but simply follow their instincts, which means: they fight for their survival. For a lack of time, before the reclamation of Mars, it was only possible to create copies of humans, primates, and wildlife with fairly compatible brains – microorganisms and reptiles had to be captured to be released into the wild on Mars or cloned. Under these circumstances you have to take care as a civilized consciousness pattern that you don’t become megalomaniac. After all, there’s something sublime about thinking that we, the “immortal ones”, sit a few steps higher on the ladder of life than all the “lower species” who are limited to a single life to gain some idea of reality. Maybe it’s wrong to think that we are “better”, but on the other hand maybe a logical consequence of our development. First we have, as humans, conquered the Earth and then created the robots who have saved us and other animals from ultimate self-destruction – a kind of self-protection. And our goal is again now to obtain superiority. On another planet, under other auspices. This time the system protects us from annihilation. We are only permitted to limited habitats and spheres of influence. I think we’re quite good at it. In one of my previous lifes I was a rich plantation owner in Lunae Planum. Daily life was amazing, the fruits extraordinarily big and juicy, my purse always well-filled so that I could afford an occasional trip to good old Earth where, among debris, craters, and polluted steppes, only about a dozen giant cities are left that try to sustain in accordance with the intergalactic treaties. Who knows, maybe one day the robots will emigrate and the Earth becomes Mars and Mars … no, let’s hope that it remains what it is. A playground for the souls. The happy ones. For all those who can overcome death.
The throaty call of a macaw brings me back into the here and now. Thorns scratch my knees above which only a small scrap of cloth covers my crotch and my buttocks. We don’t need silk suits out here in the wild, no customs and no champagne mood. We are only primordial men here. And as such we follow our primal instincts: protection of the family, the homeland, the village. The macaw has made me prick up my ears. Less than twenty yards away something scurries through the branches, or have my senses fooled me? No, it must be him. The target of my craving. Too many times has he gutted our lambs, violated our cows. It’s his turn now. I quicken my pace but take care to move as quietly as possible through the undergrowth. Just like my prey. Because there is one thing that I have learned in my three and a half lifes as a hunter: You have to unconditionally attune to your prey when you want to slay it; you have to exactly think like it. Breath the same way, hark, pry. A suspicious noise makes me listen attentively. Have these been pointed black ears over there that flashed in a sunbeam? I feel it in all of my limbs that the hunt is coming to its end. I stretch all of my muscles, grab the lance as firmly as I can. Now is the time – man or animal, intellect or instinct, taste or greed. I have to keep on hunting, because we can’t allow the predators too much leeway, otherwise we may end up on nature’s menu ourselves and our souls might be usurped by low bestial cravings then that surround us in this jungle. Alas, what would I give for a cool mojito at the pool of my former manor house now! Or for a night with my ex-wife whose skin couldn’t have been more silky! But these thoughts are too much of a good thing. I shake them off like a dog the water that he has involuntarily bathed in. Then I take up the chase. Whenever I hear something crack, whenever I think that velvety-soft fur brushes a tree bark, I freeze. Even if it’s just a harmless rustling of leaves, caused by a wisp of wind or a small bird – my experience has taught me to be absolutely silent when I perceive something suspicious. Only this way can I get an advantage, approach the source of the noise … and maybe shut it up forever! The hairs on my arms and legs bristle. They are thicker and longer than those of the people in the cities or the mine-workers. After all, we need much sharper senses in the depth of the jungle. That’s why I stand stock-still like one of the young trees that surround me, feel firmly rooted in the ground in this moment, in this planet. Mars – that’s me. In this moment I’m one with nature. And maybe my nickname fits me better now. But in the next moment I feel a sudden thirst of blood. Even though wars and combat operations are prohibited by the omnipresent soul system and can be punished with decades of soul banishment, I feel an irrepressible fighting spirit in me. The hunt is an exception. It’s the only justification for killing. And in the end it’s the source of all the strength that makes humans “more”. Members of the master race? Surely not. But on the threshold of death you sometimes meet the spirit that ordered you to cry immediately after your birth. Cry or die! That’s the essence of such moments. For now, however, I still have to stick to the opposite: keep quiet, stock-still – or you will be eaten. It’s not much of a challenge to me, since I’m used to it.
The panther ought to be within a radius of about ten yards now. I still listen attentively to any noise that he makes and move only when I’m absolutely sure that I take the right step. A little further to the right, there behind the large orchid, then …
A sunbeam blinds me. Out of nowhere, it seems. Damn, does it want to annoy me? I can’t focus this way. I hear rustling steps, steps of four paws. I raise my lance, open my mouth …
… and are sucked by the system out of my body. Before I realize what’s happening, I’m already in another body. This one, too, is blinded by the light. But it doesn’t bother it so much. I look around – here too: jungle. One thing is immediately clear: I have never been in a body like this. It’s a completely new experience. Much sharper senses, a completely different kind of smell, hearing, breathing, perception. It is as if I have switched from a numb hulk into a soft, smooth creature. My ears raise up. They are very pointed and can hear everything in their surrounding. Has this been an insect that made me raise my tail? Maybe. Or it was a delusion. Anyhow, I stand on four legs. And I’m hungry. Very hungry. So hungry that I begin to growl. It seems that I have forgotten a lot of what constitutes my soul. Because right in front of me I see a complete stranger; he looks like he has just woke up from a bad dream. He rubs his face, looks at me, almost drops his lance. A fatal mistake! I use the seconds, extend my claws in a flash, prepare for the jump and …
Buddha dies.
Sven Klöpping, born in 1979, writes poems and science fiction stories since his childhood. He has published numerous short stories in national and international magazines and anthologies and was a frequent editorial helper and contributor of InterNova’s mother magazine Nova. Apart from that he contributed poetry to German magazines such as Federwelt and Kult. He edited the anthologie Bullet in 2014, with stories set in his own fictional universe MegaFusion. Some of his tales were collected in his books MegaFusion (2001) and Menschengrenzen (2010).