I was up in Mount Darwin, where I made my home. It was a shack, no bigger than a small anthill but fully thatched. They would be able to come to see me here and I would give them the best of my advice. I'd made it all the way up here through the infantry stage, though an eternity cooped up in prison with nothing but its languor and an old PC to keep me company. In the earlier stage we had tried to build high-tech flying machines, but the very basic technology was not suited to the making of complex machines, which meant we resorted to test flying them to see if they crashed. This method led to the deaths of many apes, but that never stopped us, and we kept on going.
At this higher level I would be able to watch real aircrafts taking off and landing. Sometimes, like a dream when you are pinned down to the land but somehow still flying, the ache of a thousand years began to grab hold of us as a special form of gravity. The hills it seemed were aching for reprieve -- from what? -- from being hills. It took a particular form of resilience to stay aloft as one began zeroing in on the grey netherworld beneath one.
At this higher level I would be able to watch real aircrafts taking off and landing. Sometimes, like a dream when you are pinned down to the land but somehow still flying, the ache of a thousand years began to grab hold of us as a special form of gravity. The hills it seemed were aching for reprieve -- from what? -- from being hills. It took a particular form of resilience to stay aloft as one began zeroing in on the grey netherworld beneath one.
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