Nature lives in balance- A twentyfourhour short story

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Oshan had prepared for this one-way trip as best as he could. He had spent a major portion of his credits on the solar powered laptop. The rest went for the portable water filter and the classic ivory fedora. He wore his favorite Tshirt and his most comfortable jeans- a worn faded blue pair. He put on his fedora, pocketed the filter and picked up the laptop- he was ready

He entered the basement of the Quantum Project facility through the auxilary vent and passed through the security doors using the stolen ID. The Machine was guarded by two burly soldiers armed to the teeth, but not against a colorless odorless gas. Oshan put on his hybrid micron mesh helmet and broke the ampule. Soon he sat before the terminal connected to the machine and the gigantic battery that powered it. The alarm sounded as he touched the keyboard. He typed "11-11-1623, Sawader" and pressing the charge button ran into the machine before the ion field solidified. The next moment he was running on the pebbled beach stumbling barely managing to come to a halt without falling down or letting the laptop go.

The sun was ...setting ocean to the west Oshan began to walk towards the village. Smoke was visible as it gathered up into a cloud floating inland on a gentle breeze. The smell and the salty air was a novelty by itself but Oshan was in a hurry. He carried with him great amounts of knowledge he wanted to share with his people, his tribe. What he had read and seen in the documentaries was absolute evil. Subjugating a population because of dark skin- rather by the excuse of dark color. He would teach them and write for them the basic principles of chemistry and medicine, also introduce Latin to them and show them to make glass and the amazing uses of the local cactii. Most importantly he would show them how to make explosives form the sulphorous rock abounding in the region. All history would change in this coastal village of North Africa and nothing would stop him. The Machine would take weeks to reboot, by then he would be in Madeira.

As he neared the village he saw children playing and waved at them. As soon as they saw him they ran into the village shouting "Stranger! Stranger!" Oshan powered up his computer and spoke into it "I am come in peace, bearing gifts of healing and knowledge." Than he hit the Pause button and waited till a few of the adults gathered. Then he played what he said in Yoruba. The adults were stunned at the sound coming form the computer. Again Oshan tried. "Brothers I have come from a far land to meet you." But nobody spoke to him. They talked to each other and send a young man running into the village.

Oshan chose a stunted tree which still had a few leaves and sat down cross legged under it, placing his laptop in front of him on the ground. Inevitably one of the children ventured near, wanting to touch the laptop. Oshan posessively snatched it up. Seeing this an adult came near and asked. "What is this carving which makes noise?"

"It is a vessel which stores speech." Oshan replied, keeping it simple.
"Stores speech! speech cannot be caught."
"This can do it." Oshan said lifting the computer to show it to the tribesman. The next moment it was almost wrenched from his hand by the boy who had approached earlier. Somehow holding onto the laptop Oshan tried to pull the child away. Then another boy joined the first pulling at the laptop. Suddenly his grip slipped,the children fell one way, Oshan fell the other while the laptop fell with a resounding crash. Oshan was aghast, frozen in shock at the loss of the priceless treasure- his life's work. The boy returned to pick up the now banged up laptop. Oshan could not bear this and rushed at him shouting "LEAVE IT ALONE." Before he could catch the now retreating child an arrow pierced his thigh. The boy's father had arrived. Oshan fell to the ground screaming in pain. He could feel the blood pumping out. The arrow has cut an artery. Oshan lay there, his head resting on his fedora, as the tribe gathered around him, still afraid to touch him. Time is a bitch thought Oshan before blacking out.

Time and Tide- not easily changed.

The Contest: https://steemit.com/twentyfourhourshortstory/@mctiller/writers-win-5-steem-october-2-twenty-four-hour-short-story-contest-the-year-is-1623-a-visitor-comes-to-a-small-tribal-village