Timoor released a perfectly aimed arrow. He watched as it exited his hand-hewn bow with dizzying speed, traveling in a long, well-practiced arc before burying itself deep in the chest of the unsuspecting gazelle.
With a start from the underbrush, the animal let out a muffled bellow and kicked the air wildly. Timoor knew he’d dealt a fatal blow, but it would be some time before the creature succumbed. This was the way of the hunt.
Timoor watched from his hiding place as the gazelle reeled, wide-eyed and wild. Eventually, the animal settled into a gallop across the plains and toward the horizon.
Timoor was ready. Slinging the bow over his shoulder, the hunter ensured his articles were secure before setting off on a trot in the same direction as the animal. Besides the spear, he carried a small amount of water, a knife, and an inscribed metal box. Wearing only a loincloth, Timoor felt connected to the land, sweat beading at his brow under the heavy midday sun. As the lone hunter, far from his tribe, he would need to be wary about conserving his energy.
The amount of time the deadly pursuit would take was undetermined. Depending on the exactness of Timoor’s aim, it might be from several hours until the rest of the day before the beast collapsed both from its wound and fatigue. Timoor was a pursuit hunter. He wouldn’t get another shot at the gazelle with his bow in this state, so the only option was to track and follow the animal.
This was a hunting tradition passed down through generations. Timoor had learned it from his father who had learned it from his father, and so on. It was a great honor as part of the tribe to hunt the gazelle. Only the keenest were given the important opportunity to hunt the animal as Timoor was doing now.
The gazelle continued to bounce through the tall plains grass in its wounded attempt to escape. From time to time it would pause, looking back the way it came at the small figure of Timoor slowly pursuing it. As the gazelle rested, Timoor would gain ground until, finally, the hunter was close enough to spook the gazelle which, in turn, would again labor off into the distance faster than Timoor could follow.
And so the dance continued. The gazelle fled, Timoor pursued. The gazelle stopped, still Timoor pursued. It was the great inborn ability of being human that Timoor relied upon to continue his trek mile after mile looking for clues of the gazelle’s whereabouts.
Hours passed and Timoor could see the pursuit taking its toll on his prey. Each time the gazelle stopped, Timoor gained more and more ground, until finally the animal could go no further. Collapsing, the gazelle fell to the ground.
Timoor slowed to a walk and carefully approached. He could see the gazelle take quick, stifled breaths, sucking in the air with difficulty. The gazelle’s eyes were wide with fear, but as much as it willed its body, it would not budge. Redness dripped where the arrow stuck from the side of the animal’s chest.
Timoor kneeled beside the frightened animal. He bowed his head in reverence, letting the fleeting sadness of felling the animal subside and filling himself with gratefulness that his tribe would be sustained by the gazelle’s ultimate sacrifice.
Murmuring incantations, Timoor reached to his waistline and retrieved the short, sharp blade from its sheath. He gently reached over and grasped the slender neck of the gazelle in his weathered hand. With one quick motion Timoor reached up and cleanly sent the blade across the gazelle’s throat.
The wiring connecting the gazelles head to its body had been perfectly severed. Red oil poured from the exposed routing tubes and sparks fizzled from the open wound. Timoor put his ear against the gazelles body and felt the telltale whir of its internal motors begin to wind down. Slowly, the gazelle’s eyes drooped before coming to a close for the final time. Timoor waited as the life drained from the mechanical beast.
When the gazelle finally lay still, Timoor took his blade once again. Piercing the flesh of the artificial animal, Timoor carved a small slit into its side. Reaching into the body cavity, the hunter fished his way through the internal components of the gazelle. Winding his way past metal rods and gearing, Timoor’s hand landed on its prize. Grasping the small, round object buried deep within the animal, Timoor quickly jerked the object loose and pulled it free.
Covered in red lubricant, the quantum battery glistened, intact in the sunlight. Timoor breathed a sigh of relief. The delicate object had survived, undamaged by the hunt.
Timoor surveyed the land. He was still alone, far from his tribe and the sun was low. In the twilight hour, he reached for the small metal box at his waist. In the final moments of the fading sun, Timoor opened the face of the cube and exposed a set of prongs. Gently, he held the box and seated it into the openings on the quantum battery.
The box began to hum as it powered up. Timoor walked from his place next to the dead gazelle and placed the box and battery on a nearby rock, orienting it upwards. A faint column of light began to emanate into the sky, growing in intensity until it shone with brilliance against the evening.
The beacon was set. Pulses of light shot up from the crafted device and into the starry heavens. Timoor shivered as coolness descended on the plains. It was only a matter of time, Timoor imagined, until the message was received.