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The girl rummaged around in the rear of the cave and emerged with two bizarre, otherworldly fruits. They were unlike anything Steve or Dan had ever seen—smooth, bulbous orbs the size of a large grapefruit, their skin a shifting mosaic of iridescent teal and deep violet, etched with delicate, circuit-like patterns that pulsed faintly in the dim light. When she approached, her eyes sparkled with a mysterious confidence, and she set the fruits down carefully before the astonished pilots.
Without a word, she began a series of deliberate, silent gestures. First, she mimed gently tapping the fruit with her fingertips, as if checking its ripeness, then cradled it in both hands and drew her hands apart as though splitting something open. With a graceful motion, she pretended to peel away an invisible layer, revealing a glowing, translucent interior. Next, she brought her hand to her lips and mimed taking a small, careful bite—her eyes closing in satisfaction—and then swept her hand outward, as if letting the nectar flow over her tongue. Finally, she pointed at herself, then at the fruit, and finally at Steve and Dan, her expression earnest and inviting. Through her silent instructions, it was clear: the fruit was meant to be eaten gently, savored slowly, allowing its luminescent juices to awaken the taste and kindle a spark of hope even in this desolate place.
The two men grinned in unison as they exchanged a conspiratorial glance. With a newfound sense of adventure, Steve carefully picked up one of the alien fruits, the cool, iridescent skin glistening in the dim light of the cave. Mimicking the silent instructions of the mysterious boy, he tapped the fruit gently, then sliced it open with a precise, fluid motion that surprised even him. Inside, the pulp glowed with a soft, ethereal light, and its aroma—sweet, tangy, and slightly reminiscent of exotic citrus—filled the air.
Dan, ever the eager co-pilot, wasted no time. He followed suit, his eyes alight with curiosity as he bit into a slice of the unearthly fruit. The flavor exploded on his tongue in a burst of cool sweetness, tempered by a subtle hint of spice that lingered just long enough to be unforgettable. Steve mirrored his actions, savoring the taste as he chewed slowly, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. The two men continued to eat in a quiet, almost ritualistic manner, their grins widening with each bite as the strange fruit seemed to invigorate them, momentarily bridging the gap between the bizarre and the familiar in this desolate new world.
“Hold it right there!” Dan barked, his voice sharp as the boy flinched and froze mid-step.
The kid's wide, dark eyes locked on Dan, uncertain and ready to bolt. His wiry frame was clad in crude garments—toughened hide and sun-bleached fabric stitched together from the remnants of who-knew-what. It looked like he'd scavenged it from both the wild and forgotten ruins. But what caught Dan’s eye wasn’t the outfit. It was the flash of metal at the boy’s chest.
Pinned awkwardly to the tattered strap across his shoulder was a small, battered insignia: a pair of airline wings.
"What's going on?" Steve demanded, springing to his feet as he scanned the scene.
Dan stepped forward, slowly, his expression tightening. “Steve… look.”
Steve peered closer, then his jaw slackened. “Those are Spindrift Airfleet wings.”
The timeworn emblem, dulled by sun and dust, still bore the unmistakable mark—a stylized “C” flanked by silver eagle wings. A relic. A connection.
“Where did you get that?” Dan asked, voice low but intense.
The kid didn’t answer. He just stood there, breathing hard, fingers brushing nervously against the pinned badge as if he only now realized it meant something to them.
Steve muttered from behind, “That doesn’t just grow on trees.”
Dan stepped up, his eyes softening. “He’s one of ours. He has to be.”
Steve gave the boy a slow nod. “Or… he came from someone who was.” His face darkened, lips thinning as a shiver passed through him. The boy stood still under his gaze, chest rising and falling, unaware of the meaning of the emblem he wore like a trophy or totem. He murmured, half to himself and half to Dan standing just behind him, “What does it mean, Dan? Where is that ship? Who were its pilots? What happened to her passengers?”
His mind spun back through memory—fragments of briefing notes, news clippings, radio chatter before Spindrift had launched. A name whispered in the halls of the program.
“The Marintha,” Steve said aloud, voice low, reverent. “She took off from Tokyo… six, maybe seven months before us. Same class, same design. Suborbital flight to LA.” He paused, the weight of what he was saying pressing into the space between them. “They think it was a space warp. One no one saw coming. The Marintha went up… but never came down.”
Dan let out a breath. “You think this boy—someone from the Marintha gave him those wings?”
“Or he found them,” Steve replied grimly. “Which means the Marintha came down. Somewhere close. Somewhere… near enough for him to carry this.”
Dan paused for a moment, glancing over at the boy, and then asked gently, “Hey… can you—?”
Before he could finish, the caveboy sprang to his feet with surprising agility. He backed away a few steps, eyes flicking between the two men, then turned and darted out of the cave. Steve and Dan exchanged a glance, then rose on unsteady legs and moved to the cave entrance. Through the tangled underbrush beyond, they caught glimpses of the boy’s swift, bare-limbed figure weaving between the trees.
They sat down again, breath still coming a little hard after their ordeal. The sunlight through the canopy flickered across their dust-streaked faces as they watched him vanish into the foliage.
Within a few minutes, the boy returned—this time accompanied by an old man. His hair was long and white, his face weathered like sun-baked leather. He wore the same rough skins and furs as the boy, his expression a blend of caution and ancient weariness. He didn’t speak but raised one arm and made a beckoning motion.
Steve and Dan looked at one another, shrugged, and without a word followed the old man and the boy deeper into the cave’s cool, dim recesses.
After a short walk through narrowing passages, the caveboy reappeared holding a bundle of furred skins. He stepped up to Steve and gestured awkwardly toward the captain’s torn uniform, which hung in shreds from his frame.
Dan chuckled. “Looks like someone’s offering you a fashion upgrade, Captain Burton.”
Steve gave a lopsided grin as he accepted the bundle. “Never thought my next change of clothes would come from a kid in prehistoric couture.” He looked down at the caveboy, whose dark eyes watched them without fear, only curiosity.
“He may not speak,” Dan said, “but he sure understands a lot.”
“Yeah,” Steve muttered. “More than we realize.” He stared peeling off his jumpsuit. His boots were scratched and almost worn-out. In a few moments, he was dressed in the height of fashion---for a caveman.141Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡiLSJL5Dr5t
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Steve and Dan found a brief moment of privacy away from the watchful eyes of the cave dwellers. The two men stood near the mouth of a side tunnel, where shadows fell across the rough stone walls. From this quiet vantage point, they could observe the local inhabitants going about their business—gathering, tending small fires, preparing food with simple tools.
“Dan,” Steve murmured under his breath, “what do you think these people really are? Their features… that dark skin, the strong builds—reminds me of some of the tribal groups from the Southwest. New Mexico, Arizona maybe.”
Dan furrowed his brow, thinking. “It’s not out of the question. I mean, they’ve definitely got a look—indigenous, maybe. But if this world is some warped version of Earth’s future… who knows what twists of time or evolution they’ve gone through? Could be generations of survivors that adapted out here, maybe even long before the apes took over.”
Steve gave a slow nod, then shook his head, his voice taking on a firmer edge. “Speculating isn’t going to help right now. Let’s focus on this medallion.” He held up the small, weather-worn artifact they’d recovered earlier. “This thing could be the key to figuring out how we got here… or how to get back.”
At that moment, the caveboy emerged from behind a jutting rock, crouched low and watching them intently. He had keen eyes and the posture of someone used to moving silently. His clothing—stitched leather and fur, primitive but well-worn—suggested someone raised in harsh conditions, yet quick on his feet and far from helpless.
Steve approached him cautiously. There was something about the boy, beyond the silence and the wary glances. He was young—preteen, maybe—but strong for his age and not afraid of them.
“He’s got a good head on his shoulders,” Dan said quietly, coming up beside Steve. “Whatever else is going on here, that kid knows more than he lets on.”
Steve nodded. “Yeah. And I have a feeling he’s going to lead us somewhere important.”
The boy remained silent, but his dark eyes never left theirs.
“They look so human,” Steve muttered to Dan, watching the small figure crouched nearby. “It’s astonishing.”
“Yeah,” Dan agreed, keeping his voice low. “But they don’t say much.”
Steve gave him a sideways look. “Well, a lot of people would say quiet kids are easier to deal with.”
“Don’t let Barry Lockridge hear you say that,” Dan shot back automatically, then caught himself. His voice faltered. “Sorry.”
The caveboy watched them, dark eyes steady and unreadable. Steve crouched down to his level and held the medallion gently between them, like a shared relic.
“Listen,” he said slowly, choosing his words with care. “This… this is part of something big. A machine, like a bird. It could fly.” He lifted his hand, palm flat, and made a slow swoop through the air. “It soared up, over mountains, across oceans. Like a… great thunder bird.” He paused. “You came from that? Or someone you knew?”
The boy stared at the medallion, then at Steve. There was a flicker of recognition—maybe just at the gesture, or maybe the memory of something he couldn’t quite explain. He didn’t speak, but his hand tightened on the edge of his rough tunic.
Dan stepped forward. “He understands something, Steve.”
Steve nodded. “Yeah. Maybe not the words… but the meaning.” He stood up, the medallion still in his hand. “If this came from the Marintha, and he has it… then we’re not the first.”
Here’s the revised version of the scene, now featuring the nameless caveboy who does not speak at all, while preserving the emotional beats and sense of mystery from the original. I've adjusted the tone, gestures, and interpretation of the characters' interactions to reflect the boy's complete silence:
Dan’s eyes widened. “There’s a wreck. There has to be.”
Steve and Dan exchanged stunned looks, the realization hanging heavy in the air like the dust of forgotten time. The boy—young, maybe ten or eleven, strong for his age—just stood there, chest rising and falling from the trek, watching them with wide, unreadable eyes. He hadn’t spoken a single word. Not once.
Dan glanced at him, brow furrowed. “He hasn’t said anything at all. Not a word.”
“Not even a sound,” Steve added, more quietly. “It’s not just that he won’t talk. It’s like… he can’t.”
Dan exhaled sharply. “That changes things. If he came from the Marintha, or knew someone who did—someone from our time—why hasn’t he learned to speak? Even a few words?”
Steve waved a hand, brushing aside the theory for now. “Forget that for a second.” He crouched down again, getting to eye level with the boy. “Let’s try this another way.”
He pointed at himself. “Steve,” he said clearly, tapping his chest. “Steve.”
The boy tilted his head slightly, as if studying him.
Steve repeated, “Steve,” and tapped again. Then he pointed at Dan. “Dan.”
The boy stared at them both in silence, his face impassive.
Dan whispered, “He understands. You can see it in his eyes.”
“Maybe,” Steve muttered, still watching the boy carefully. “Or maybe he just remembers someone saying those names before.”
He looked again at the weathered airline wings hanging around the boy’s neck, their edges dulled by years of wear. Something about them felt like a key—one that might unlock everything.
Steve sighed and stood. “Whatever happened out here, this kid’s caught between two worlds—ours and whatever this place has become.”
Dan nodded. “And if he’s the only survivor of the Marintha…”
“Then we’ve got a lot of questions, and almost no way to ask them,” Steve said. He looked west, to where the cave’s shadow gave way to harsh sunlight and distant cliffs. “But if he can show us where that ship is—”
Before Dan could respond, the air was split by a deep, guttural horn blast, echoing through the trees like some ancient warning from a forgotten age.
The caveboy flinched and immediately stiffened, alert. Beside him, the old man—the white-haired elder dressed in ragged skins and furs—froze as well. Their heads turned sharply in unison, listening. The horn blared again, its sound low and ominous, reverberating off the canyon walls.
Dan took a step toward the mouth of the cave. “That’s no natural call,” he said. “Something’s happening outside.”
Steve turned to the boy. “What is it? Do you know?” He stepped forward and grabbed the boy gently but firmly by the shoulders.
The boy didn’t react with words. He didn’t even try. His expression didn’t change—just a flicker of alarm in his wide eyes. Then he twisted away from Steve and bolted toward the cave entrance.
“Hey!” Steve called, but the boy didn’t stop.
He and Dan followed quickly, just in time to see the cavedwellers reacting in a burst of primal fear. Figures emerged from the forest below, racing toward the cavern. They moved quickly—some on foot, others bounding up into the trees like frightened animals seeking shelter. Baskets of berries and fruit were dropped and abandoned. One man hurled a rabbit to the ground without hesitation. All of them rushed past the aviators in a panicked wave, squealing in fear—but not one uttered a word.
Steve’s breath caught. “They don’t speak,” he whispered. “Not a single one of them.”
Dan nodded grimly. “They don’t need to. They know what that horn means.”
Steve turned back toward the ridge—and then they saw it.
A dark line of armed figures emerged over the distant rise, stark against the dusty horizon. Uniformed and grim, they wore green and black leathers, some with metallic chestplates gleaming in the sunlight. Rifles were slung across their shoulders. Holsters. Utility belts. Tall black boots. They moved with rigid purpose, eyes scanning the terrain ahead.141Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡg8mvEbGrcw
