TL Note : https://wikizilla.org/wiki/Gabara
Gabara
February 2012 – Amazon Rainforest, Federative Republic of Brazil
Alberto Ichiro Santos, Student (at the time)
Some of you may feel a sense of guilt for leaving this Earth, abandoning so many of your compatriots. Shouldn’t you be leaving some behind to survive? But that’s not the case. It wasn’t you who abandoned them, but us who thrust this immense responsibility upon you – to carry on the history of this human species, and sent you out into the absolute void. I don’t know when the end will come for your journey. Perhaps only emptiness awaits. But still, I want you to inherit what humanity has lived and built until today – its history, culture, and civilization. Now, let’s begin the lesson.
Alberto Ichiro Santos, a historian of comprehensive studies and a Japanese-Brazilian, is teaching the humanities course to the young boys and girls aboard the migration ships Oratio and Aratrum. Compared to the knowledge of mathematics, physics, chemistry, engineering, and the biological sciences required for this unprecedented extraterrestrial migration project, the time allotted for humanities education is far too little. Yet Alberto earnestly imparts the wisdom of our ancestors to these students, treating them as equals, engaging in serious discussions, rather than simply imparting facts and events. It seems he is trying to bestow upon them not just knowledge, but the frameworks of thought – the proverbial “wisdom” – to process such information.
In terms of passing on words to future generations, there may have been little need to specifically listen to Alberto. His words were surely taking root in the young minds of the Oratio and Aratrum. (Incidentally, my own son was also educated by him in his early years.)
However, the reason I requested this investigation of him was that I learned of his curious nickname. Some of his old friends call Alberto “Jane” – the name of Tarzan’s love interest in Edgar Rice Burroughs’ novel [Tarzan].
“My Tarzan was a delightfully lovely girl, you know.”
Alberto laughs as he says this. The origin of this nickname seems to be that he had fallen in love with a “Tarzan.” Despite his lush mustache, his eyes held the innocence of a young boy.
“If you want to hear my tall tales, I have plenty. They’re well-known stories around here. But is that alright? Truthfully, there’s no evidence. It’s a story I believe wholeheartedly to be true, but it may have been just a dream or hallucination. Does the testimony of such uncertain provenance hold any value?”
—“Even if the intelligence division that assigned me this task might deem it meaningless, I believe there is something that can only be conveyed through such uncertain voices. Even if it was a dream or illusion, I think we can learn what people at the time hoped for or feared by considering why they came to believe in it.”
That’s how I answered his question, but looking back, the phrase “preaching to Buddha” would have been more fitting. In response to me, Albert nodded.
“That’s true. Even if it was a delusion or hallucination, to future generations looking back, my experiences might provide clues about what the people of that time desired and feared. And you know, if the descendants of the Aratrum and Oratio return here someday, centuries or millennia from now, there’s a chance my tale could be proven true or false.”
Very well.
Well then, let me begin my fairy tale. Where should I start?
My father was a real estate tycoon who made his fortune in a single generation. To him, the destruction of the city by kaiju was just a business opportunity. With a man like that, it was no wonder he had trodden some dangerous paths, and had ties to the underworld. That’s why, from the time I was a child, my family couldn’t go anywhere without bodyguards. Of course, my mother, filled with fear and distaste for such an environment, tried to send my siblings and herself overseas as soon as possible. She sent my brothers to school in France and crossed the sea herself. Leaving only me, a 9-year-old boy. Ah, don’t worry, I was fine. It’s true that I was the child my father had with a mistress, and my real Brazilian-Japanese mother had passed away before I started school. But my adoptive mother was the kind of person who didn’t make such distinctions. The thing is, I was the one more attached to my father. After all, he had only gone to elementary school and couldn’t even write his own name, or so the rumors said. But to me, he was rough but not base. He must have been quite self-conscious about it, trying to make up for it by furnishing an impressive library, even though he never went near it himself. But his son – that’s me – took quite a liking to it. From then on, watching his little son struggle with thick encyclopedias became one of his small joys, the only time he seemed like a true father.
However, when I was 14, a bomb was planted in my limousine after school. I narrowly escaped, but the poor driver didn’t make it. That seemed to be the final straw for my father. He resolved to send me to study in Japan. I was taken aback when he told me this unilaterally without any input from me. Apparently my mother had dreamed of visiting her ancestral homeland with her child, so by sending me to study in the island nation of the East, he intended to grant her wish halfway. Certainly, at that time, aside from some smaller ones, Japan had barely any kaiju incidents confirmed. With the US military buildup acting as a buffer against kaiju trying to invade from the Eurasian continent into the Pacific, and even taking command of remnants of the crumbling Chinese People’s Liberation Army, it was likely far safer than Europe where my stepmother and brothers lived. But to me, it was a bolt from the blue. Sure, my Japanese-sounding name and looks came from my mother, but I couldn’t speak the language at all. And at the time, I knew very little about Japan. I fully believed what my birth mother had said – that Japan was a strict country fusing Buddhism and Shinto, where males and females weren’t even allowed to hold hands until marriage. Well, I was young back then. What a joke, I thought my youth would be dreary gray if I left for Japan. So before departing Brazil, I tried to make some final memories by inviting a girl I was somewhat close with to the Rio Carnival, sneaking away from my father and bodyguards’ watch…really, I was foolish and didn’t think it through. During a long-distance bus transfer, when I went to the bathroom, I got ambushed from behind. It couldn’t have been more than an hour since leaving home. I was truly a stupid kid. The only fortuitous thing was they let the girl go.
So, when I came to, I was up in the air. Tied up behind my back with a blindfold on, but from the propeller sounds I could tell we were on a plane. Once they realized I’d regained consciousness, the blindfold was ripped off, and I was surrounded by some rough-looking guys. Guys fully tattooed like the Japanese yokai tale of the Ear-Mounter – though I didn’t know that one until later – or guys with piercings all over like a cactus. “We’ll make sure to pay you back plenty for what your old man did,” “How many fingers you keep depends on that stubborn geezer’s answer,” that kind of thing before they started hitting me. In the end, I never found out who they were or where they were trying to take me. Below stretched dense rainforest…the Amazon, and we were flying pretty low, probably trying to slip under radar towards the Pacific side, maybe Colombia. That area was messy back then, but my father probably had plenty of chances to make enemies while making money undercutting someone. It wouldn’t be strange if someone held a grudge. But in the end, I never knew who they were or what their goal was. Suddenly, the aircraft violently shook. My vision blurred. For a moment I thought the sunlight was blocked, like we’d flown into clouds. No, it was a flock of birds. Something had happened below. Then a crashing sound, and the aircraft shuddered. A bird strike…one of them must have collided with the plane, shattering the glass and probably smashing right into the pilot’s face. The aircraft pitched sharply…one of the guys surrounding me tried to head to the cockpit to correct it, but too late. The plane went into an almost vertical nosedive straight towards the green earth below, and that’s when I blacked out again.
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When I came to, I was in the shade of a tree by a river. It must have been near the source of a small tributary flowing into the Amazon. I sat up by the clear stream. My right arm, head, and other areas that seemed injured were wrapped in a strange white cloth. The cloth had an unusual texture, almost silk-like but thicker, and as I later learned, heat-resistant. I wondered what it was made of… Strangely, despite the plane crash, my body had no notable injuries except for a dull pain in my right arm. The shirt I wore was stained brown from dried blood, so I must have been injured. Looking closer, there were traces of wounds all over my body that appeared to have been sealed, with sparkling powder…no, scale dust clinging around the scars.
I looked around, wondering who had treated me.
And then, I saw her.
Even thirty years later, that sight is burned vividly into my memory.
A tanned fairy.
By a small cascading waterfall, a beautiful girl was bathing.
Her cropped silver hair. Cocoa-colored skin. Compared to the dancers at Rio’s samba festivals, her body couldn’t be called voluptuous, but her toned physique glistened as the water streamed down, hinting at the steely yet silky muscles lying beneath – the perfect harmony of strength, health, and beauty.
It was like beholding a mythical warrior maiden.
I was transfixed by her.
She suddenly made eye contact with me, and I froze. I knew I should look away, but I couldn’t. I was spellbound by her beauty.
Thick brows, a resolute gaze, cool beautiful features – the very visage of a jungle queen. As an uncouth trespasser glimpsing her nudity, I trembled, expecting execution on the spot. But to my surprise, she did not rebuke me. In fact, she even gave me a small but distinct smile. Somehow, she did not seem to find any shame in exposing her bare body to the opposite sex. Stepping away from the waterfall’s shower, she shook off the droplets and smoothed back her hair, the vivid color at her chest’s tips searing into my vision. The jolt finally allowing me to regain my senses and avert my gaze.
—“Glad you’re awake. You should cleanse yourself too,”
That’s what she said to me.
—“Um, excuse me. That woman, likely an indigenous person, could she speak Portuguese?”
No, we never used spoken language to communicate.
—“What do you mean?”
Yet I understood what she wanted to convey. Somehow, she grasped my thoughts too, without needing words. She must have had extraordinarily keen intuition.
—“But that doesn’t explain how you could comprehend her language.”
Shall we call it telepathy then? That would be overly unscientific, wouldn’t it?
“Yeah, I suppose.”
That’s why I said it was a fairy tale. If you find it unbelievable, consider it the delusion a boy surviving a plane crash experienced before being rescued. I don’t mind. At any rate, I washed off the caked blood, sweat, and mud beside her.
Her name was Mira, she told me. A shaman of sorts for a nearby tribe, she had witnessed my plane going down and rushed to my aid. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, I was the sole survivor. The brutes who had abducted me all perished instantly. Surprisingly, only a day had passed since the crash. The partial healing of my wounds led me to think I had been unconscious for over a week. But the scale dust clinging to my body held some secret – it not only sealed my injuries but even mended my broken right arm overnight. You’re giving me that look of disbelief, understandably. No matter, just take it as a fairy tale then.
I asked Mira for help escaping the jungle. However, her reply was that while she wanted to, it would be difficult.
“Something bad lurks in these woods, and if it discovers her friends or village, terrible things will happen. Unless I deal with it, I cannot leave here.”
Something bad? When I inquired further, she simply beckoned me to follow as she donned a simple tunic and ventured into the dense foliage. I trailed after her. While insect-borne diseases posed the greatest threat in jungles, the scale dust seemed to act as a powerful repellent – neither of us had to worry about bugs at all.
As I proceeded through the sloping forest, I began to hear a faint rumbling sound, followed by the sound of water. I realized that something was in conflict.
The forest opened up, and from the hilltop overlooking the Amazon River, I witnessed a scene of slaughter. Alligators… the very creatures that should have been the predators were now the ones being hunted. Of course, only a Kaiju could do such a thing. How should I describe it? A hideous, upright frog-like creature? With bumpy, protruding skin, two horns, and no tail, it appeared more like a giant than a beast. It wasn’t an exceptionally large Kaiju, likely no more than 10 meters tall.
The creature was indiscriminately killing the alligators. Some had their jaws pried open and were split in two while still alive. Others were grabbed by the tail and slammed repeatedly to the ground. The alligators couldn’t even escape. Apparently, the Kaiju could emit an electric current from its body, rendering most of the alligators unable to move properly. It was a sickening sight, too cruel for a fairy tale. The Kaiju was clearly enjoying itself, killing not for food, but for the sake of killing, just as a mischievous child might play with and kill insects.
Gabara.
That name came to me, along with the sense of her suppressed rage.
That seemed to be the name of the Kaiju.
I shuddered at the thought of the scene when it appeared in her village.
I see. That thing must be defeated at all costs.
We left that place.
The alligators’ cries remained in my ears.
Mira’s base was a large cave. The jungle nights come early. By the time we arrived, it was already evening, quickly turning to night. She told me to stay here, as it was dangerous, and she went deeper into the cave to check on her friends. In the end, I never got to meet these “friends” of hers, so I don’t know their true nature. She never let me see them. Perhaps they had some sacred role that prohibited contact with the outside, or they were avoiding contact with others due to some illness or injury, or perhaps… they weren’t human at all… Her strange threads and scales… could they be… no, I shouldn’t speculate. Even in a fairy tale, that would be too absurd.
After a simple dinner of nuts and fruits with Mira upon her return, we wrapped ourselves in the cloth woven from her threads and fell asleep side by side. It was the first time I had slept next to a girl, but I must have been exhausted. As I felt her breath, her heartbeat, and her body warmth, I drifted off to sleep.
The next morning, Mira guided me to the site of the crashed plane. I thought there might be something there that could help us defeat Gabara. Mira seemed to have some skill with a bow, but against a nearly 10-meter-tall Kaiju, that wouldn’t be enough.
There was a mound of earth by the wreckage of the plane. The remains of the kidnappers had been buried by Mira. They had received their just punishment. I made a small sign of the cross and began to inspect the plane’s wreckage. The first thing I noticed was the aviation fuel. If it was high-performance fuel, it could serve as a decent substitute for gunpowder. Unfortunately, it had already leaked out of the punctured tanks. But I should be grateful for that; if it had ignited, I wouldn’t be here. The rest… there were a few small arms and some rusted tools, typical for a criminal organization’s belongings, but no RPG or anything that powerful.
So, what would you do?
Alberto asked me, like a teacher. When I asked if there was anything else useful inside the plane, he replied, “Well, there wasn’t anything particularly noteworthy.” I felt like he had deliberately emphasized the “inside” part, as if hinting at something. After pondering for a while, I had an idea and asked, “Wasn’t the plane’s frame made of aluminum?” Alberto nodded approvingly, as if I had grasped the right idea.
Roberto then said, Indeed. By pulverizing the aluminum and mixing it with iron oxide – which I could obtain by grinding the tools – I could make thermite, an extremely high-temperature explosive.
I made an improvised smelting furnace and bellows to refine the aluminum powder.
The rest was creating a powerful launching device to fire it at Gabara. Using the available materials, I built a winch-powered stone trebuchet. It could probably punch through steel plates.
It took me two full days to get everything ready.
That Kaiju was truly a tyrant.
A lazy, moody king.
It would spend most of the day napping in its lair, only deigning to slaughter the creatures of the Amazon on a whim. It was quite carefree, understandable since it had no natural predators. But even so, it had grown too complacent.
It underestimated the wisdom of humanity.
Mira excelled at strategy – meticulously planning the shooting positions and escape routes. The dense jungle was no match for her, becoming a modern grid-like city under her touch. We approached Gabara and carried out the plan at dawn.
Shooting an arrow into the exposed belly of a napping target was child’s play for Mira.
“Fire!”
At my signal, her arrow struck true, piercing Gabara’s right eye. He leapt up in a frenzy, then spotted us on the hill with his remaining eye. Of course, we had intentionally let him see us. A rope was rigged across the river for our escape. Mira grabbed me by the waist, supporting our combined weight with just one arm as she ziplined across the river. Naturally, Gabara gave chase.
—Did the thermite not explode?
The trickiest part was the detonator. If it went off while we were lining up the shot, we’d be the ones getting hit. But making a reliable and safe device with makeshift materials was an immense challenge. So we decided to utilize Gabara himself. That’s why we set up the escape route across the river.
As soon as Gabara entered the water, the surface started frothing. How many innocent creatures must he have toyed with and slaughtered. His blood-soaked body immediately attracted the carnivorous river fish. Normally, a single electric shock would have subdued them. But this time, Gabara had a bomb in his eye. He roared and unleashed the electric discharge, and then–
BOOM!
Yes! I instinctively hugged Mira. But she remained calm. “It’s not over yet,” she said, pushing me away. Maybe she was even feeling a little shy.
Gabara’s massive body collapsed at the water’s edge, his half-blown-off face burning in the unquenchable flames. The predatory fish swarmed him as the water turned crimson with his blood. He continued to struggle for a while, perhaps attracted by the scent of blood… or maybe waiting for a chance at revenge. From upstream, we saw a huge group of crocodiles approaching. Seizing the opportunity, they pounced on Gabara. I didn’t feel sorry for him. It was just retribution, the natural consequence.
My adventure story ends here. Afterward, Mira and I built a small riverboat and drifted down the Amazon for about three days. Gazing at the stars peeking through the trees, I tried to convince Mira to come live in the city with me. But she asked me instead if I truly intended to return.
The Kaiju appeared to herald the end of human civilization. Humanity should rediscover how to live in the forest, she said.
At the time, I thought it was just a difference of opinion. After all, dangerous Kaiju like Gabara existed in the Amazon rainforest too. Danger was the same, whether living in the city or the forest… no, living unarmed in the forest might actually be more perilous.
But she was right. The appearance of the Kaiju only increased over time, until that one arrived… Humanity lost four continents. I sometimes wonder why South America alone has been spared the ravages of the Kaiju. Perhaps… they are not absent, but rather the territory of relatively benevolent Kaiju.
Oh well. On the fourth morning, she had vanished without a trace. The military patrol boat slowly approached where I was drifting. My adventure was over. Whether it was all my delusion, a tall tale, or the truth – you can decide for yourself.
…After finishing my lecture for the Aratrum crew, I plan to retire from this job. I want to go back to the Amazon to search for her. I’ve served the United Federation enough, and I’m a lonely old man with no family. I should be allowed to live out my twilight years as I please. I wonder how she’s doing. Maybe she even has children and grandchildren by now.
Humanity’s civilization will likely be destroyed by the Kaiju before long. We no longer possess the means to resist them. But the collapse of human civilization does not necessarily mean the extinction of humanity. The dinosaurs who once reigned over this world have been dethroned, yet still live on as birds. Humanity must have similar options – ways to coexist with the Kaiju even after ceding them the throne of this planet.
Perhaps she was a pioneer of that way of life, the path humanity should choose.
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