Author: David C. Nutt
Christopher Robin stopped to catch his breath. He wasn’t actually the Christopher Robin but he was a Christopher Robin. What made him a Christopher Robin (a C.R.) was the chip set his parents got for his 8th birthday to help him bond with the family dog. And because of the war, and the chaos that followed the chip set was never taken out as per the terms of the lease. That was the upside of the war… the chip set was left in him rather than removed and the neural net that grew and winded itself into his body gave him some impressive abilities. Nothing psychic just, well, let’s just say it made his life easier in the 100 acre wood. Well, more like 100 square mile game preserve but who’s gonna quibble when the metaphor worked so well.
At the moment C.R.’s life was far from easy. In fact, it was in jeopardy. He cursed himself for being so reckless. It had been so long since any chip hunters had been seen in the area. He thought maybe they stopped looking. C.R. shuddered. If they caught him, it wouldn’t be pretty. The bio dynamic communication, command-and-control systems that developed in his body were worth billions to the right buyer. But to harvest them meant not even the dignity of quick death or anesthesia. Nope! Had to keep those nerve endings raw and screaming to find them all. He understood why so many of those like him had opted for medical removal in spite of the risks.
C.R. heard the click and then felt the stun pulse. He fell face down. He could move his head but nothing else. He knew he didn’t have long. The three hunters that stood before him didn’t look anything like he imagined. They were way too corporate. There was no evil banter between them. They just started setting up their area to butcher him.
C.R. heard a twig snap and they all looked up. The Grizzly that charged out into the clearing ripped open the hunter closest and tore through the other two before they could react. C.R. saw the two cubs and knew why the bear was so fierce. Growling and grunting the bear shambled over to C.R. He could move one arm now, and struggle to sit up. The bear flipped him over and then lay down with her head on C.R.’s stomach. He scratched behind her ears and fed her one of the peppermints he always carried for his friends as her cubs bounded over for treats as well. “Silly old bear.” He said as he scratched under her chin.
I liked the cubs.