Compromise solutions—-
-—are no longer possible. Time has run out. Choices, not compromises. Decisions, not accommodations—and soon! The alternatives are all laid out for Man to see. He can weigh them maybe a little while longer, but then he has to decide. Life or death. It’s that simple.
Uh-huh. And would you care to venture a guess as to which he’ll choose?
Nope! But I’1l give you a clue. Mankind is a self-fulfilling prophecy.
And where does that leave you?
Floating bare-ass on an iceberg and asking myself: Who is Jonathan Relevant?
And the answer?
A naked guy with a frostbitten ass floating on an iceberg.
Also maybe a mirror held up to humanity. What do you think?
Pompous! Pompous as hell! But if similes turn you on, then add this: I just noticed that this iceberg is starting to break up!
Mirror, mirror on the ice,
It’s too late to load the dice!
The hell it is! Look-y theah!
And over there too!
Jonathan Relevant’s head swiveled from one sight to the other. Beneath his freezing butt the ice was cracking. The berg was breaking up. But he paid it no mind. He was too busy squinting, his eyes moving back and forth, trying to pierce the fog of the Bering Strait.
Now, in the distance, he could make out perhaps half a dozen kayaks proceeding toward him. They were manned by fur-buncled Amerinds, some of who were waving harpoons. They were coming from the direction of the Alaskan coast.
From the other direction, Siberia, a large primitive fishing boat hove hazily into view. The crew was made up of Koryaks, native Siberians. Spying the figure on the iceberg, one of them fired a rifle.
“Koryaks!” One of the Amerinds identified the Siberian craft. “And they’re shooting at us! They mean to drive us away so that they can capture our brother stranded on the iceberg! Prepare to defend yourselves!” Spears bristled from the fleet of kayaks.
“Get ready!” The Koryak captain assured himself that his crew was armed and alerted. “That’s one of us on the iceberg and those Amerinds are trying to take him prisoner! They mean to make a fight of it!”
The Koryak boat came within hailing distance of the iceberg. “Who are you?” the captain shouted.
“Who are you?” the Amerind chief yelled simultaneously.
“Joktka Relevant” was the answer the Koryaks heard.
“Nanook Relevant.” The reply reached the Amerinds loud and clear.
“Get away! He’s a Koryak!” the Siberian captain shouted to the Amerinds.
“He’s an Amerind!” The kayaks kept coming.
“Fire over their heads to warn them off,” the Koryak captain ordered.
A volley sounded out. It was followed by a flight of spears from the Amerinds. More shots. More spears . . .
The naked man on the iceberg crouched low and watched the spears flying over his head and listened to the bullets whistling past. They're trying to rescue me, he reminded himself. They just want to help me.
Out of the frying pan . . .
What about yourself? What about that puzzle of yourself and the pieces you collected? Doesn't it begin to make any sense at all?
Sense, hell! Survival comes first!
You knew that back on the first iceberg. But what’s the answer?
What’s the question?
Who is Jonathan Relevant?