Wheel of the Sun
~ tumbling through the lands of the Amonites ~
Deep in their Ocean on that World they never named, the Amonites began as a flat disc, a Sand Dollar. Along their edges, a frill of tiny tendrils touched floating dust to gulp debris along the seafloor. With a central, axial orifice, and longer tentacles to reach, they would catch passing prey. That axial orifice cut clean through to both sides, so that they were prepared after tempestuous tides for either coin-toss. Their eye-stalks, tongues, delicate nose-feathers, all lay protected within cubbies along the inner sides of that boney axle, able to poke-out into surrounding waters and retreat again. They covered every shoreline, completely. A forest of waving, grasping arms and waiting lamprey jaws, eyes glooping and wafting from within that central void. Their abundance became their turmoil. Where else could a new Amonite GO, to find a home?
They moved ashore. Tidal lagoons, further inland in succession. Their exodus was most successful when one nameless Amonite began to do work: those clawed fists surrounding its Sand Dollar bulk began digging into the shoreline. In alternating zones, these Amonites would carve a cliff of dirt into a whistle-shape, such that tidal swells swirled, sedimented, and swept away in a continual succession, excavating FOR the Amonites. Those Tidal Lagoons sedimented each density and size of GRIT along their banks, which those legged wheels would scoop selectively to form their moist nest-mounds. The bladders in their wheel-faces, beneath each segment of their shelled body, were used to suction and spit seawater in jets, to dig beneath themselves and propel in topsy-turvy escape-artistry when predated in the storm-swell depths. Suctioning air instead, they could bubble oxygen into their Lagoons at low-tide, to continue breathing despite a lack of circulation of dissolved oxygen in the waters. Those bladders became lungs.
The Lagoon Amonites populated further inland along every low-land sedimentary shore. Yet, their lungs allowed them to push further. As their vast numbers pushed them to specialize, new varieties arose. Some began trying to slug their way to neighbor’s shores, pulling their flat bulk from all sides with their strong arms ploughing into soft sand and silt. Those large, strong Amonites would haul themselves in expeditions, invasions. The smallest Amonites were least stuck-in-the-mud, able to wiggle to freedom if they wattled further inland. The shoreline became the demesne of those Hulk Amonites, thickest shells, strongest arms, digging deepest lagoons which are unsteady to all smaller foes. Inland, along the rivers, were the Sprite Amonites, collectives of wiry and fleet little ones who would corral in coordination to communicate danger over great distances. The entire river-length was a continual clatter of tiny claws, a telephone line to rally the troops!
The Hulk Amonites’ strength and size facilitated immense excavations, converting the shorelines into deep, meandering lagoons and crumbling muddy cliffs surrounding them. Those Hulks lay flat at the bottom, churning the waters around them and belching air into the muck, for the greatest density of micro-algae to feed their skittering mudfish prey. And those excavations created cascades further upriver, as those depths pulled water faster, eating downwards along the river-bottom. Those cascades were another place where the flow of water did the Amonites’ digging! After eons of Sprites tickling mud along the banks, then those rivers were a lattice of meandering ox-bows, such that their steadily-retreating waterfall would carve a meandering path: first falling at one place, then scooting to the side of the cliff to fall from somewhere else. As each waterfall wandered, it left sedimentary basins behind. These low freshwater ponds were where the first timid ground plants pond-scummed their way onto land. This lichen was precious to the Sprites!
Crude horticulture began, with Sprite hoist-hopping their little coin-bodies like a crab with a wedgie. Hop-plop. Hop, skid, stop. They carried piles of pond scum on top of their pie-segmented shells, to drop into other ponds and cultivate. The best varieties were selected, naturally, to proliferate — those less-productive kinds had produced no surplus to use as a nursery for new sites! This greenery attracted bugs and lungfish, other niches. Which attracted the Hulks, in repeated invasions again. The Sprites would know of the Army as soon as it began its journey — they had plenty of time to flee, or prepare!
Those Sprite river-basins networks who were able to travel FASTEST had two advantages: their forward Scouts could Retreat safely, and each new Fortified Position could be held until the very last moment, retreating safely again; AND their rear-most Farmers could rush ALL the way to a frontline Defense! Every squad of Hulks was surprised from all sides by a tsunami of tiny ones. With their meager strength, the Sprites could not strike Hulks with great force. Instead, their swarm would pile-atop-itself to hoist a few onto the backs of the Hulks, from all sides. Those Hulk-Hunters had sharp flakes of rock held in their fingers, to cut-away at the Hulk’s eye-stalks! Tiny arms prodded down inside that Axial Orifice, raking those eyes and tongues and nose-feathers even after they attempted to Retreat! Blind, in agony, the Hulks would flee stupidly, mucking in circles while the Sprite clattered in joy! That was only the case if the river-basin’s Sprites could gather in sufficient numbers… because they were FAST.
The Fastest Sprites were the ones who learned to ROLL. Tumble-weed-style, wobbly and swirling to the ground repeatedly, they were barely capable of staying upright for more than a few meters. That was still a dozen times better than dragging a flat plate on the ground! The Amonite People are all descendants from these Wheel Farmers.
Wheel People could heft a larger body efficiently, much less muscle necessary, fewer calories per kilometer, in less time! The Wheel People grew larger. Stronger in the fight against the Hulks. And they propagated further upriver, carving and fertilizing wider swaths of floodplain and valley. The Amonites *brought* plants to the land. Everywhere they explored, across those windy Continents, they found bare rock and silt, no flora, no competitors, no Hulks. In silent diligence, those Wheel People crafted this World.
Whosoever is most diligent and knowledgeable has the greatest spare land to make useful. Pioneers are preferred. ‘Retreat’ became Frontier. Amonites are hard workers, to a fault. Even resting flat on their shells with their families at night, all three of their eyes are glaring intently at their seven hands ringing their body in continual, coordinated craft! And, when they do finally fall asleep, they lay in a tilted stack, a toppled row of them, with all of their triple nose-feathers extended to clasp their neighbor’s. Those rows of sleepers extend additional nose-feathers to adjacent rows, to form an entire lattice. While they sleep, the electrochemical signals along those feathers are a data-fiber. They dream in symphony. This is how their children learn the Wisdom of the Ancients.
Only when varietals of land-adapted plants began to grow stalks supported by stiff fibers could Amonites take those first great leaps in their technological Destiny: Fibers. Into twine. Fitted with woven net-sacks over their shoulders, pockets covering each pie-wedge shell on both sides of their bodies, Amonites could now carry many things with them! Much more than what their seven backwards-palms could hold while they rolled!
And, piles of fiber could be rubbed-together for warmth! Rubbing two threads of twine would even make smoke, if done quickly! In slow, steady experimentation, Amonites mastered the first smoldering fires, kept safe from the high winds by deep rings of stone and sediment. That baked dirt and rock kept their kin warm in wind-swept winter. Those Pioneers overcame the cold Northern zones, spreading ponds and surrounding reeds ever-further.
The tallest, thickest reeds, with hollow cores, made light-weight beams for a tinder-rafter woven roof, adding slightly to the warmth and wind-proofing of their rocky crater fire-pit dens. These Crafty Amonites came to dominate all the wide-open plateaus, all the way back down to those Old Rivers and Waterfalls. There, the tiny hordes of Sprites are still waiting, wavering by the water’s edge, clacking to warn their brethren of invaders! They have evolved, instinctively, to pile atop each other until they reach your face! They each hold a half-dozen sharp rocks, aiming for your EYES. Pioneers stick to their mountain garden-swales, safe and sane, productive, avoiding the problem. Retreat is Progress.
Every land-plant, each time Nature bothers to craft anew, is identified and cultivated by the Amonites. Their crater-gardens are the isolated niches where each crop is tested and selected. Evolution gave Amonites each mutation; the Amonites learned to make best use of them! Every plant in dirt on this world was crafted by them. Their selection vastly accelerated the entire process, while those Amonites most insightful and diligent to the task were necessarily selected, too. This is what drove their brains to grow so enormous!
Those Story-Tellers, Gardeners, would look at the Sun and that vast Moon! The celestial bodies are the bodies of Amonites, obviously! Mother and Father of the Universe, rays of light reaching in flowing arms, warmth touching us from high above, ancient and full-grown. Amonites yearn to rejoin those Heroes of their constellations, to be full-grown. They work, to get there.
That evolution of incisive observation and long-term planning allowed the Amonites to make-sense-of and care-for those Bugs and Salamanders which had come to inhabit their territories. Every creature they saw became a pet, across millions of years of gentle favoritism, protecting and providing, creating those homes the creatures need, processing and storing their necessary foods and scarce salts. Amonites became Bee Keepers, Shepherd of Giant Salamanders, scraping mosses and grinding into paste, dried for winter fodder. Their World is wholly their own creation, their garden.
As a result of these geological ages of labor and tending, the landscape is lush. And, every plant and critter is the special tool for the purposes of the Amonites. They need only carry a few precious tools in their net-pouches, or drag a sledge of supplies behind them in a wagon-team, in order to accomplish every craft and design they have devised.
When the Amonites sense a problem, dreamed together, they lay the plan with designs drawn in dirt, then scribed to clay or cut as tally into reeds. They set-out on that journey which completes the circuit of their task; they reach each source of materials in-time, in-place, ready for the next by the time they arrive there. Along their route, they grasp each passing plant which holds part of their plan, a tool for their next site’s activities. Their journey is a shopping-cart spree in a hardware store. Once they reach their destination, they have all of their tools in hand — and that destination has those raw materials which their tools craft, on-site, for their final purpose.
That was why, when we landed, we could detect their herds and spot them — yet they seemed crude prehistoric nomads! They had twine vests and sharp stones in their pockets. We were laughing. By the time they reached our Dropsite, 800 miles away, their coalesced population numbered in the Millions. And they had already crafted the tools along the way, to turn our surrounding forest-cover into a array of Penobscot Ballistae, with A-frames behind them in a series, for multiplied force! Their Iron Wood cracked our reinforced vents. Their bolts launched ropes overtop us, like Gulliver, to ensnare us in an ever-thickening net. Our droids and drones lept to defense, yet those Amonites keep retreating like rabbits! Like a wave, they pull away whenever we approach. They’ve pegged the ends of those ropes into the ground, then rolled boulders over them, tied sturdily, deftly.
When they launched wads of gloop at our vents, we were confused. It had only been two days since they attacked, at that point. The swarms of Bugs arrived. They gummed-up everything, wedging their bodies into the valves of our Rockets! We sent Bots to crawl across the panels, down to the nozzles, to clean them out… and the poor machines were crumpled by dead-on Ballistae bolts the length of a delivery van. We are a cornered mouse in their pantry. Don’t send a rescue.
