When morning arrives, you awake with a start. You have been dreaming that Pop and Ligru are rummaging through your pack, tearing all the contents out while you lie there alert but helpless, as if frozen by fear or indecision. Only when they find the Stone of Vul-Kar do you reach for the pack — and the sudden spasm in your arm is what wakes you. But the pack is right there behind you, exactly as it was when you fell asleep.


"My, we're awfully worried about that pack." It's Pop, sitting in his former spot beside the fire as if he never went to bed. "Don't worry, we didn't touch it."


You sit up and brush some of the dirt off your legs and shorts. Not only is the college professor sitting casually beside the fire, his back reclining against his own turned-around pack — legs extended, hands clasping a tin cup filled with a warm beverage — but Ligru is once again tending the fire, using one stick to move around the charred pieces of wood to make room for more fuel. It is almost like it was when you first joined them, but now in daylight.


"I thought you'd be long gone by now," you say.


"Us?" Pop says. "What makes you say that?"


"You mentioned having a long hike ahead of you today," you say.


"Oh, that. That can wait. We didn't want to leave you behind, not after the experiences you've had."


"Don't worry about me," you insist. "I've gotten this far; I can take care of the rest."


"You never did answer my question last night," Pop says.


"Question?"


"Yes. Where are you trying to go?"


You look around the campfire and see that both men are watching you with much interest. Pop's words may be expressing a polite concern about your well being on the surface, but you sense there is an agenda lurking underneath. Or are you just overreacting to that accent of his? The campsite is now cleaned up, with no sign of the yellow pup tent. Instead you see two backpacks, both ready for the day's trek: Pop is using his as a backrest, and Ligru's is sitting next to the spear.


"I'm just trying to get off the island in one piece," you say, trying to add a note of vulnerability to your voice. You need to throw these two off the scent, if indeed they really do think you have the Stone of Vul-Kar. "The Wobans can keep this place. Life is too short as it is already to be spending it running from cannibals."


"Yes, I suppose it is. But then you knew the risks when you came here, right?"


"But—" you start to say.


"But nothing," Pop cuts you off. "You came here for a purpose. We all did. None of us are here on vacation, just to post selfies with the natives on Instagram."


"I don't follow…."


"Don't play dumb — and don't take us for fools." Pop's voice has grown suddenly firm. "You came here in search of something valuable — so valuable that you'd risk getting eaten by three-eyed savages, if that's what you had to do to find it."


"Well look, now," you say, summoning your inner indignation. "I have no idea what you're talking about. But you didn't go through what I did last night. I was held prisoner with two other people, and after they dragged them away I never saw them again. It was sheer luck that I was able to get away—"


"And I suppose it was also by sheer luck that you were able to get away with that pack of yours, too," Pop says.


Ligru seems to be watching this exchange from the sidelines, as if waiting for a cue to get involved. You decide you need to be more aggressive in this conversation, and put Pop on the defensive for a change.


"You're the expert on Polynesian culture, Pop. So you tell me, do you think maybe these people might have left my gear alone because of some superstition?"


"First off, these people most certainly aren't Polynesian," Pop says with a bit of a huff. "Or Micronesian, or Maori, or Hawaiian, or anything even closely related to any other human population."


"That's interesting," you say. "Then what exactly are the Wobans?"


"Certainly nothing that Cook ever laid eyes on," Pop says.


Ligru speaks up for the first time this morning. "Weren't you saying the Wobans were their own separate species, sir?"


"Well obviously," Pop says. "Show me another human population that averages 2.2 meters in height, has claw-like digits, and of course looks at the world through three fully-functional eyes. This throws the whole evolutionary tree into disarray. Some have proposed that this species be called Homo teroculos, but I suspect that the Wobans aren't members of the genus homo at all, but rather some heretofore unknown offshoot of paranthropus."


How easy it is to derail an academic type by feigning interest in their pet subject matter!


"There you go!" you say. "We can't expect rational human behavior from people who aren't even human."


"I wouldn't go that far," Pop says.


"You haven't been their prisoner. I have. If you want to know why I'm eager to get off this island, then feel free to continue right up this trail for another mile. It leads right to the village — you can't miss it. They'll be happy to have you."


"That is a good point, sir," Ligru says from across the fire.


"So if you don't mind, I need to get going," you say. "I'm sorry to have held you up for so long. After what I went through, all I want more than anything is to get back to the States and schedule an appointment with my therapist."


You stand up and lift your pack, ready to hoist it onto your shoulders.


"Hold it!" Pop says, standing too. "Ligru, pfft."


The professor makes a hooking motion with his left hand, and Ligru immediately drops the stick he has been twiddling and takes a position behind you.


"What is this about?" you say.


"Enough of this nonsense," Pop says. "It's time for all of us to drop the pretenses and get down to business."


"Business?" you say, trying to maintain the same air of innocence — but finding it's hard not to be intimidated with someone as big as Ligru standing right behind you.


"Yes, business. I doubt that's such a strange concept to someone such as yourself, no? Two days ago, a massively large yacht shows up and anchors itself off shore. I said to Ligru, 'My, there must be one hell of a wealthy person on that boat.' And Ligru said, 'I'll bet you they're here to look for the Stone of Vul-Kar.' Then sure enough, the next morning we watched as not one but two small boats zipped away toward shore. And from what I could see through my binoculars, one of those people looked a lot like you."


"So yeah, I came here on a boat," you say. "This is an island. How did you get here?"


"You, my friend, are a mercenary, hired by the wealthy elite. You don't even possess the authenticity to come here to advance your own goals, as I do. You are here for but one purpose: to enhance the ego of someone whose sense of entitlement already knows no bounds. I'm sure you will be made wealthy if your mission is a success — so wealthy you'd risk your life among the cannibals, as you say. And now you'd have me believe you are returning to your master empty-handed? That when you met adversity, you ran for your life? How do you think that will be received when you return to that big yacht?"


"Pop, you have one hell of an imagination."


"That very well may be. Nevertheless, I'm afraid we can't let you leave here without knowing what's in your pack. It's quite possible you are in possession of something that I need very much."


It occurs to you that this would be a good time to use that gun that Walter Berringer gave you yesterday. Unfortunately, that's still in the little book bag that Captain Mark loaned you… and you left that back in the Woban village when you were reunited with your own backpack. This leaves you in the awkward position of being forced to choose between unappealing options, in a game where you clearly have the weaker hand. Either you can cave and give these weird goons what they want, or you can make a run for it — hoping that Ligru isn't as scary as he looks.


__________________________________________________

You run.

It's hard to see how you'd ever reach a favorable outcome by simply handing over the Stone of Vul-Kar. Pop was correct when he predicted Berringer's reaction should you return to the Big Papi empty-handed, with a story of getting outsmarted by a two-bit college professor and his pet student. You might just as well not return at all.


On the other hand, Ligru doesn't strike you as being nearly as fierce as Pop hopes he will be. Pop is here on Woban Island to advance his own cause, just as he admitted. Ligru, big as he is, is more of a wide-eyed tourist along for the ride. You assess him to be a gentle giant.


Therefore you gather up all your courage, turn, and run.


"Oh I can't believe this," you hear Pop saying behind you. "Ligru, you know what to do."


Last night you were worrying you had lost the trail in the dark. Now in the light of a new day, the route is right ahead of you — plain as can be. It occurs to you that you'll be easier to track that way, but you have no interest in running through the jungle on some random course. You may be rested after several hours of sleep, but you still haven't eaten anything, nor have you had anything to drink other than that whiskey. Essentially, the only fuel you have left is adrenaline, spurred by the desire to get off this nightmarish island ASAP.


When you hear no one's breath gaining on you from behind, you risk a quick look back. Ligru is indeed pursuing you, but he is not much of a runner. If you can maintain this pace, it looks like you have a good chance of outpacing him.


But while you're worrying about Ligru, your mind is not paying attention to where you're going. The brief moment you turn to look backward is long enough to do you in. Your right foot catches on a tree root extending into the trail, and your left can't get into position fast enough to keep you upright. The heavy pack is already throwing off your center of gravity, and to your eternal chagrin you are hurtling with your arms outstretched before you into a tree. The root that started all this never lets go of your boot, and you land with your knee at an awkward angle to the rest of your body. You expect to feel the pain of a torn ligament any moment now.


"Thank you for making this so easy," Ligru says when he catches up to you, that spear of his pointed at you.


"Ligru, I think I sprained my knee," you say. "Can you help me up?"


"We'll ask the professor for an ice pack when he gets here," is all he says. He holds the tip of his spear directly over you, preventing you from standing even if you could.


Pop takes his time joining the two of you on the trail. "Good work, Ligru! You'll get an A for this."


"Thank you, sir," your captor says.


"All right, let's get this over with," Pop says to you. "You're out of tricks. I know you have the Stone of Vul-Kar, so just give it to me."


"Pop, I twisted my knee!" you say. "You have to help me out of here."


"I have to? I'm not aware of any such obligation."


"So you're just going to leave me here unable to walk on my own?"


"Oh, don't exaggerate. I'm sure you'll hobble your way down to the beach eventually. That is, if the Wobans don't recapture you first."


"This is insane," you protest, but Pop is right: you are out of tricks.


"Unclip the belt on your pack," he says. "Look at how your knee is starting to swell. You're not going to be in any shape to carry all that extra weight anyway."


When you don't obey right away, Ligru jabs the spear into your shoulder.


"OK, OK," you say, unbuckling the pack's waist strap and letting it slip off your back.


The professor quickly steps in to take your pack. He is behind you when he releases the clips holding the top part down, and then pulls the drawstring to open the main compartment. Therefore you can't see him when he sees the Stone of Vul-Kar and lifts it for the first time.


"This is it?" Pop says.


"It's pretty!" Ligru says, still keeping you under the stone tip of his Woban spear.


"I suppose. But somehow I was expecting more."


The ingrate! He steals the most valuable gem on the island from you, and he complains about the way it appears.


"Are you happy now?" you say.


"Not yet," Pop replies, "but the path to my happiness is now becoming clearer."


"What do we do now, sir?" Ligru asks.


"Get out of here, of course. Let's go back and get our stuff. You can let this petaQ go so it can lick its wounds."


And so Pop and his sidekick leave you on the trail, your knee growing puffy and throbbing in pain. You try and stand, but immediately collapse in pain. Clearly you aren't going anywhere right away. The only consolation is that your pack is right where Pop left it; apparently the Stone of Vul-Kar really was the only thing he cared about.


You are not alone for long, though, because a few minutes later your tormentors come strolling back from their campsite. This time they are both wearing backpacks of their own, with Ligru holding his spear like a walking stick.


"You're getting nowhere fast," Pop says. "You should have that knee checked out. It looks painful."


"So you're really just going to leave me here?" you say.


"Look, here's what I'll do. I'll give you my business card, so that when you find a way out of here you can look me up. Maybe we can all get together someday and have a good laugh about all of this."


"Pop, you're mad!"


"Or maybe not. But here's my card anyway. It was nice meeting you."


He tosses a small business card as the two of them walk by. It spins like an out-of-control helicopter before landing beside you.


"Let's get out of here, Ligru, before any Wobans come along."


"Sounds like a good idea, sir."


"I'm in a good mood all of a sudden, so call me Professor."


"Yes, Professor!"


That is the last you hear of them as they disappear down the trail, leaving you immobilized and helpless. You grab your pack and begin searching its contents, looking for that bottle of ibuprofen you always keep stashed in one of the outer pockets. As you do so you remember the satellite phone with which you were supposed to call Berringer when you were ready to return to the yacht. Right now it's the lifeline you need to get yourself out of this predicament, although you're going to need to phrase your request very carefully.


While you're thinking about the best way to do approach that problem, you pick up the business card and read it:


MARTIAN POP
Adjunct Instructor
Niobrara Community College
South Springfield, NE



Oh, this is rich — you've just been bested by an instructor from some rinky-dink community college! In Nebraska! How are you going to explain this to the man who was going to pay you a million dollars for bringing back the Stone of Vul-Kar? It would almost be better if the Wobans got to you first.


THE END