The land dried as we moved farther north. Trees became more sporadic and bulbous; plants changed from emerald green to a lighter, dustier ‘Sandfly Nirvana’ shade; and grassy clearings became the norm rather than the exception.

We soon had to ditch the creek we’d been following as it headed off into parts west, although not before I filled every container I had. Tour Guide Bert had informed me that ‘going north’ in Madagascar was going to be significantly warmer than Iceland. What a surprise. I think he was growing a little titchy about my singing.

On the plus side, my clothes finally had a chance to rid themselves of water; on the minus, the hotter temperatures made me sweat, replicating the effect. Was there no such thing as a moderate climate on this world?

At least I had a temporary new friend to keep me amused. The mouse lemur had resisted all attempts at daylight relocation, preferring to stay bundled in his hat-home. And I needn’t have worried about how the journey would affect him. He was an even deeper sleeper than I was; the bounce of my movement and discordancy of my singing failing to elicit more than a shuffle and a snuffle.

Nevertheless, Gunga was still not thrilled with my new companion. Whenever she caught me sneaking a peak through the little window she would harrumph loudly and stomp on plants that had long since ceased to be an impediment. I suspect she might also have had the same remnant of hangover-headache that I was suffering.

I was distracted enough that I passed the structure before the symmetry of its design struck me. Nature can do many things, but constructing things in a straight line is not one of them—or at least I couldn’t think of any.

It was fashioned like a primitive tent; leaves poked liberally through two frames of branches lashed together and leaning against a tree. The remains of a fire sat in front of it, registering as still warm when I tested it with a hovering palm.

Incontrovertible proof Madagascar was inhabited.

“Bert?”

Hmm? Oh. This isn’t good.

“Are they settlers?”

No. These are not permanent structures. But…Madagascar was originally discovered by foragers. They would make seasonal visits to exploit the island’s natural assets and take them back to their own lands. I suspect that that is the nature of this camp.

“And your evidence for that?”

The eggs.

“What eggs?”

In the bushes to your right there is a cache of elephant bird eggs. They were prized among foragers for their abundance of protein. A single egg could feed an entire village.

“Really? That big?” I stopped as I uncovered the haul. Sure enough: two of the most enormous eggs I’d ever seen. “Wow. That’s got to make the biggest omelet in the world.”

Gunga glanced over at me and I swear her eyebrows rose. “Not that I would ever…”

Ahh, you might want to look behind you, Bert suggested cautiously.

Say what?

Oh.

So it was not a surprise when I turned to find three spearpoints aimed in my direction. The weapon of popular choice. Though I suppose I should have been thankful that I hadn’t yet encountered any archery equipment. If they’d had any, this lot would probably have used me as target practice when they spotted me poking around their loot.

Although…I may have miscounted on the number of spears.

All three individuals were wearing the most unusual of underwear choices: one long, orange, elongated tube. It encapsulated their—ahem—anatomical spears and was anchored up at their hips with a fine piece of thread.

The accessory was so striking that it took an effort of will to focus on any other attribute. Feathered fluff hats, paint, tusk piercing, headbands—yada, yada, but what about that gourd?

“Step away,” one of the men commanded.

I carefully inched away from the eggs, making the warriors relax slightly. To them, the excess of protein was probably worth more than its weight in gold. If they even had a monetised system of exchange.

At least they weren’t menacing Gunga. They kept glancing her way, but treated her like a sacred cow in India—something that could become a hazard, but not usually actively dangerous.

“Who are you?”

“Just a traveller passing through—“

“A thief!” accused the youngest with the dagger-wide tusk through his septum. I suppose the adolescent hankering toward radical decorative choices occurs in all cultural and historical eras. Just because it made me want to yank on it like a pull cord didn’t mean it wasn’t a legitimate fashion option.

“I’m not a thief. I have no need of your eggs. If I wanted one I could just wait for Gunga here to cook one up.” Though I doubted she’d be so obliging in her present mood. “All I want is to go into the mountains to look at something, and then head east off the island. I’m not aiming to settle down.”

The oldest man, who had spoken first, peered at me through feathers that looked suspiciously like Gunga’s. I hoped they had collected them in an ecologically friendly manner. The thought of a rare and soon-to-be-extinct elephant bird being plucked like the world’s largest turkey was not a comfortable one.

“Maybe we collect toll.”

“For what?”

“Crossing our ancestral hunting grounds. You have already taken one of our most precious resources.” His eyes lingered on Gunga.

“She’s not yours! I brought her from my own lands. And she’s a companion, not prey.”

He set his spear like a walking stick. “A compromise, then. We are in need of a third egg. Sivest here has failed in his efforts, making us one short, and the season has all but ended. Find us a third egg and we will give you free access to our lands.”

Quest Offered: Find and Retrieve an Elephant Bird Egg!

Reward: Unrestricted passage into the Interior!

Reward: 500 XP!

Riiight. Another egg hunt. The writers had pushed this metaphor to the edge of ridiculousness.

“In the meantime, we will join you in your hunt.” A big, big smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Not even close.

I was guessing that they were proposing to become less entourage, more armed guard—each classification dependent on my good behaviour, or lack of it.

Oh, goody.

——

“You’re never going to guess what I found.”

“And what’s that?” Todd asked, making a sandwich out of fresh bread, ham, and a dash of mayo. He’d only just made it home with groceries in tow. Work had gone into unpaid overtime and it was too late to cook anything elaborate. He hadn’t even started on putting everything in the cupboard or fridge.

“There’s a vid online.”

“I told you not to post porn to your friends. That shit’ll follow you around and fuck up your life when you least expect it. Was it with Angela? Did she put you up to it?”

“No! Do you know how much you sound like Mum?”

“You think I sound like a fifty-year-old woman? Huh. Maybe I do.” Todd stuffed a large, angry bite into his mouth and nearly choked. His jaw had to work hard to clear the obstruction before he could continue. “I certainly seem to have taken over her responsibilities. Feeding you, housing you, cleaning up after you pee and vomit on the toilet floor. Man, I’m sorry. I must be a really bad person!”

“I’m talking about the gamer chick! I thought we were a team, saving the girl, bonding over a common purpose. But I guess I’m just the burden, after all. The shitstain on your perfectly ordered life!” Terrin stormed off to his room and slammed the door shut behind him.

Todd just hoped there was no one in there with him. It wouldn’t be the first time he was treated to the sounds of angry sex after one of their arguments.

Instead, he heard exotic birdsong, and the voice overlay of a woman not in the throes of passion.

“This is Gunga-Din. My companion. Along with his dungeon core parasite, Bert.”

——

We made an interesting procession as we continued into the dry lands. A woman with a harp, an elephant bird, a mouse lemur, three tribal foragers, and one ring-tailed lemur who was still closely following the drama. Literally.

At least Harry, Larry and…Sivest?…were keeping well out of my way. They had packed up their camp and swaddled their precious cargo with an efficiency that spoke of much practice. At least on the part of Harry and Larry. Sivest, as the one that had dropped the ball—so to speak—had been relegated to camp porter, carrying all of the group supplies in lengths of cloth rolled into banana shapes and strapped across his neck and back. The group’s pack mule. I hoped he didn’t have to cross any deep rivers or the NPC would sink like a stone.

Not that Harry and Larry were slacking. I’d been watching their biceps as they lifted the eggs and they were definitely not light. Probably about the same weight as a big-ass sack of spuds. My guess was that when they found as many eggs as they had carriers, they would ditch most of their supplies and head for their boat, waiting somewhere on the beach. There were probably others around, too. A single boat represented more risk and less rewards than a convoy.

So it was no good attempting flight, literal or not. I would probably be hindered by more quest givers in search of their third egg.

And Gunga was no help. She was still in a snit, moodily walking as far from me as possible, pressing against the limit of the bond’s restraints.

Arline. Bert sounded faint. Gunga has not been eating. I’m starting to fade.

“What? She’s not eating?” This was clearly an emergency. Pushing past the three men, I jogged over to Gunga, chasing her when she ran away from me (that really hurt), and only catching up by virtue of her being marginally slower.

Harry, Larry and Sivest were not happy; probably thought I was absconding with their bird. They were right on my heels as I tackled Gunga, despite the extra loads they carried.

Skill: Elephant Bird Rider achieved!

At least I got my wish. I’d become the only elephant bird rider in the world. If you could call being dragged behind said bird while clutching its tail feathers ‘riding’.

The mouse lemur certainly wouldn't. He was making squeaky-panic noises at the abrupt tipping of his bed, and I could see a wriggling tail poking out through the hat’s window. For the sake of his safety I had to let go.

Twisting myself onto my back—ouch, rock, ouch, branch—I released Gunga’s feathers and thudded to the ground, the impact releasing a whoomph! of displaced air. Then I skidded a few feet before finally stopping at the base of an enormous baobab tree.

The three stooges slid to a halt and surrounded me.

“This is not acceptable,” the elder (Harry) said sternly.

“She was trying to escape on our bird,” Sivest interrupted.

“We don’t know that. It wasn’t the most skilled of escape methods. Maybe her hand got stuck.” Larry. The mediator of the group.

“Speak, if you wish to defend yourself.” Harry again.

Breath…needed. It took a few moments to get my wind back, but when I did, I let them have it with both barrels; a triple whammy of damn the consequences.

“You are all computer characters! In the crappiest game in the universe! You don’t exist—here or in any other world. So take your eggs and shove them as far up—“

The NPCs dissolved. The game would punish me for that, but fuck it. I was angry. I was hurting. There was something wrong with Gunga, and if she went down I would lose dungeon-core-Bert, too.

“Gunga,” I called beseechingly, “what’s wrong?” This had gone way beyond jealousy. Gunga without an appetite had to mean terminal illness.

She turned toward me and I watched as her head sagged. If I wasn’t already convinced of her imminent death, I would have described it as shame.

Gunga has no illness or injury that I can detect. Bert sounded even fainter than before. There is an increase in prolactin and estrogen levels, hormones which occur naturally—

“Only you would lecture me on your deathbed. Wait…estrogen?”

As I was saying, these occur…naturally in…female birds that—

“—are about to lay an egg. Have you been holding out on us, Gunga? Gotten frisky with a birdy friend?”

Fertilisation is not possible…in a Companion animal. I believe that the egg quest line—now defunct by the way—is manipulating the structure…of Gunga, encouraging her to provide you with an easy resolution.

“Can you change her back?”

Not without…more energy…

I hurriedly started pulling up grasses and shoved them under her beak. To no avail. For the first time ever I saw her refuse food.

“What else is wrong with her? Why won’t she eat?”

For two or three days…before laying…many birds lose…their appetite. Their moods fluctuate, and—

“Yeah, yeah. Been there, done that.” I thought about it. Medical dramas. “Are there any spare parts you can use?”

Spare…parts?

“You know; spleen, kidney, appendix… Those sorts of things. Is there anything in there that she wouldn’t miss?”

…Actually…

Gunga suddenly let out squawk that sounded like…relief? and trotted toward me, giving my cheek a quick, apologetic nibble before she moved it on to more important things—like the dappled brown gecko clinging to the trunk beside my head.

I was so happy to see her eat that I pulled out the Amurlese dagger and dropped it at her feet, positively glorying in the vicarious consumption of hundreds of insects. Gunga needed the extra energy.

“You did it, Bert! She’s back to normal. I’m so happy, I’m not even going to ask what she had to give up.” Then I immediately changed my mind. “Was it a kidney? A lung? Bert? Bert? Are you there?”

There’s no need to shout. I am not reliant on auditory signals. As for her sacrifice…. Let’s just say that it solved two problems at the same time. Bert sounded positively mellow. The AI’s meal must have been huge to—

“You ate Gunga’s egg, didn’t you?”

It supplied me with enough nutrients to power an entire array of servers. I’m back on top of the world!

Insert evil laugh and—bang!—total world domination.

I heard that. It just means that I won’t be running on the nutritional equivalent of lettuce for the foreseeable future. I can split my processing power without compromising my functional capacity. Bert hummed happily.

“So more chemical cook-ups?”

Certainly. Already, I am calculating how I can use the the high concentration of egg lipids and proteins to—

“Good luck on that. In the meantime, I’m just going to sit here for a time and contemplate how much my life sucks.”

I parked my bum, and barely made contact with the ground before I shot up again. Ow.

“As soon as I remove these thorns.” I hadn’t noticed them earlier, focused as I had been on Gunga and Bert, but I was certainly noticing them now.

By strange coincidence, an odd-looking half-bald hedgehog thingy walked past as I was plucking, and I wondered, for just a moment…but no. There were enough thorny plants around to make animal intervention unlikely.

It took a while to find and retrieve most of the thorns scattered all over my body. Though I suspected I’d be playing hide-and-go-seek with the rest of them for most of the long night ahead.

Speaking of which. It was late enough and I was tired enough that I decided to set up camp early. It had been a harrowing day. And I doubted tomorrow would get any better.

——

Todd leaned his head around the door. “Rewind. Back to the beginning.”

“My name is Arline Johnson, and if you’re watching this you could be my only hope.”

“Sounds legit to me.”

“Your idea of ‘legit’ can be extremely flexible. Also, I’m pretty sure she stole that quote. Does the vid show her finding the Easter Island logo?”

“Yep. She found it inside a cave after some kind of wild egg hunt. I totally want to go back into that game and see if I can beat it. It was awesome!”

“If it’s true.”

Terrin looked up from his tablet. “You doubt the vid?”

“I don’t exactly doubt it. But we’ll need more than suspicions and our own convictions if we want to take this further. We need solid evidence.”

“What about the logo?”

“No one has ever found an Easter Island logo. It helps, but a direct link between a verified find and the vid would be better.”

“So you’ll still do nothing?”

“I’ll remind you that writing two strongly worded emessages is hardly ‘nothing’. But no. I think you’re right about this woman. Send me the link to the vid and I’ll examine it for consistencies within its visual matrix. And record any information she gives out about her location. You start posting around the gaming forums and see if you can dig up any other witnesses that can verify she's been seen in other games.”

Terrin grinned. “You know you’re hot when you go all commander geek, don’t you?”

“Not…really.”

“How do you think I get all the girls?”

“Hallucinogens and Vulcan mind control?”

“Only as a last resort.”

——

That night, as I settled inside an indentation I’d scooped out of the ground (every plant around here was absolutely covered in long, thick thorns), I watched it get dark and prepared to say goodbye to my little buddy, the mouse lemur. I’d removed the hat from my harness and set it against a tree with a hollowed-out centre: the perfect home for Timmy.

Before long, a tiny nose emerged from the window, sniffing daintily, followed by eyes and wrinkly bat ears as his head leaned over the plasteel boundary. He stared at me unblinking for untold seconds, until I started to think he’d decide to stay. Then, at a speed I’d only previously seen in vids of squirrels, he shot out of his hotel room, shimmied up the tree, and was soon lost to sight.

It was sad to see him go, but also happy at the same time. If there was one thing that this experience had taught me, it was that wild creatures should be free.

Including me.