by Andre Norton
Did they somehow know he was here? Were they now seeking him again? Jony had dabbed his body with sticky mud and leaves before he had settled here, making the best attempt he could to copy the ability of the People to be one with their background when they chose. Now, with a fast-beating heart, he waited any moment for the stranger below to center directly on him.
What would happen then? Could the invaders loose some vapor into the air as did the Big Ones, leaving him unable to defend himself as they came to collect another prisoner?
However, the other swung past, no longer centering on Jony's perch. Instead he was continuing his examination of the terrain. At last the spaceman dropped his hands, though he still held the object through which he had studied the countryside.
Just then the rain hit with a heavier gust. Apparently the stranger did not care for that. He turned and ran back up the ramp into the open hatch. A moment or so later, the ramp itself was lifted and drawn in. Jony, however, did not relax. The ship was now a cage, the most secure cage he had ever faced.
Should he have tried to fasten on the mind of that watcher, perhaps control him? Had he lost his best opportunity of rescuing those inside? If he only knew a little more! He had been able to work on the Big Ones because he had watched them, studied them with all the concentration Rutee had taught him to use. But Jony knew very well that an approach which might work with one life-form would not serve as well for another. Also, his own advice to Maba held true. This stranger might seem to be kin physically, but that did not mean that he really was.
Jony edged backward from his spy post. Mistrust still held—suppose that watcher had detected him, but had been cleverly concealing the fact by his actions? Better be gone from here and find another place from which he could still spy on the ship.
Crawling backward he again came to a complete halt. One of the People—and not too distant! Jony sat up, sure that he was far enough into the brush not to reveal himself to any ship lookout, and stared straight in the direction from which that shadowy touch of mind had come. A space of time as long as several breaths passed before Jony's eyes detected the lurker apart from his brush cover. Otik!
Jony's first impulse was to join the clansman—try to discover what had happened to the rest of the People and the twins. Then he remembered only too well how they had parted. His hand went to the collar. The first gesture must come from Otik; he was very sure of that.
The clansman knew Jony was there; had probably had him under observation all the time Jony himself was spying on the ship. Now Otik's head was turned so his eyes watched the boy. Well as he knew the People, Jony had never learned to read any emotion by the expression of their faces. He could not tell now whether Otik would allow contact at all.
Patience was one of the first lessons to be learned when dealing with the People. They lived by deliberation for the most part, and Jony had seldom seen them hurried. He waited, trying to match Otik's impassive stare with an answering one of his own.
Then the clansman hunkered forward, not rising to his feet, but using his hands against the ground as had his ancestors in those pictures. He came forward deliberately and slowly. There was a food net slung about one of his thick shoulders, but he had no staff.
Reaching a position several arms distance away from Jony, he sat back on his heels, his paw-hands dangling loosely between his knees. Otik was young; he had been Yaa's first cub some seasons before she had come to aid Rutee. As yet he had neither the bulk nor the strength of Voak or Kapoor, though he could best Trush in friendly wrestling. Had the clan done as always this year and met with other families, Otik might well have gone hunting a mate.
The clansman continued to sit and stare. Inwardly Jony fought his own impatience. He longed to sign a question, a demand, for all the information Otik could supply. Had others escaped? What had happened back at that trampled space of grass in the open? Only now he must wait until Otik accepted or rejected him.
The paw-hands moved. Otik gestured, grunted also, as if to emphasize the importance of what he would say.
“You go flying thing?” He gave that the quality of a question, not a statement.
Jony had planted his staff close to hand to have his fingers free to answer. Now he tried to keep his gestures as unhurried as he could.
“No go—yet.”
“Your clan—they be so.” Otik continued.
Jony found it disturbing that the other's face remained without expression, that he could learn so little from Otik's attitude as to what thoughts moved behind those large eyes. He had not really realized until this moment how frustrating it could be when their powers of communication remained so meager. Probably because, his mind now suggested, the daily life of the clan had been so based on the essentials of food, familiar action, and the routine of ways Jony had known for years, that he had not had to improvise any means of conveying messages outside the bounds of those basic elements.
“Not my clan,” he chose the best answer and the simplest he could think of. “Where Maba—Geogee?” He spoke their names aloud, aware that Otik would recognize those sounds, just as he could recognize and attempt to imitate the sounds which identified each of the clan by name.
“With your clan.” Otik signed uncompromisingly. “Those came from sky.” He stopped word signs and was acting out with his two paws what must have happened. One set of fingers pattered along the ground, plainly the clan traveling. The other hand flattened, swooped down upon that small band from the air and held in position over it for an instant or two. Then the fingers against the ground went limp, sprawling out flat. The hand representing the flyer scooped them up—made to carry them away.
Both hands returned to signs. “So Otik see.”
Jony moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue. He must ask the next question but he feared what the reply might be.
“Dead?” he signed.
Otik made the sign for “not sure,” and then, hesitatingly, the one for “sleep.”
Perhaps the space people had a stunning device such as the Big Ones used. Jony hoped with all his heart that was so.
“Who?” he signed now. If Otik had escaped—had others also?
“Voak, Yaa,” Otik barked the sounds Jony knew, added two more names.
Four of them in all then, as well as the twins. And the rest . . . ?
He did not need to ask, Otik was already signing that those were in hiding, watching. Though what hope they had of getting their people out of the sealed ship, Jony thought, was very small indeed.
“You go—your clan—” Otik repeated his earlier accusation, or was it simply a statement of fact as the clansman saw it?
“Not mine!” Jony made the gesture for firm repudiation.
Otik's hands were still. Did the clansman believe that? Jony knew of no proof he could offer to back up what he had said. Though he was certain at that moment he did speak the truth.
For a very long instant Otik simply sat and looked at him. Then the clansman made one of those lightning swift moves which could startle even one who knew them well but had become lulled by their usual placid, slow-moving attitude. Before Jony was aware, Otik had Jony's new staff in his hands.
Jony's reaction to grab for it, was, he knew at once, useless. That Otik had taken it at all was ominous. For a staff was its maker's and should not be handled by anyone else.
“You get—where?” Otik signed with one hand, keeping the staff closely gripped with his other.
“Found—by running water. Long time hidden in sand,” Jony returned.
Otik inspected the find carefully, running fingertips along the pitted metal of the shaft, even bringing it to his nose for an investigative sniffing down the whole length.
“Thing—of old ones—” he declared.
“I found it—in sand, by running water,” Jony returned with all the force of gesture he could muster. He must not let Otik get the idea that he had returned to loot the place of stones.
The place of stones! An idea which w
as wild, which he was sure no clansman would agree to, flashed into his mind. Against the weapons those of the ship must be able to muster what chance had the clan with their wooden staffs or their strength of body? But, suppose they possessed rods such as the sleeper held, with which Geogee had experimented so disastrously? A beam from one could bring down that flyer; might even eat a doorway into the ship for attackers.
One idea joined another in his mind. Jony breathed faster, unconsciously his fingers flexed in and out as if he were ready to grasp one of those terrifying weapons right now.
There was a honk from Otik which startled Jony out of his own thoughts, back into the present and the realization that there was little hope of doing what he had dreamed in those moments of anticipated triumph.
The clansman had laid down the metal shaft. Once more he regarded Jony with that searching look. Then his paw-hands moved.
“You know a thing to help.” Again no question, but a statement. Jony's amazement was complete. How had Otik guessed that? Could it be that, although he was unable to tap minds with the People, the same difficulty did not exist on their side? Such a thought was more than a little frightening.
“You know,” Otik repeated. “I smell you know! What this thing?” Smell? Jony was bewildered. How could one smell thoughts? The idea was dizzying, but he had no time now to explore it.
“Things—in place of stones—” he took the plunge. Otik could only say yes or no to that. “They better than staff—like things from ship.”
Otik made no answer at all. Instead, once more on hands and feet, he backed into the brush, leaving Jony alone. That was probably the end of any contact with the remnants of the clan, Jony decided bleakly. His first move was to secure the metal staff. His second was to think again of his wild idea of turning the finds in the storage place to use.
But the stone dens lay to the north. And suppose Maba or Geogee had already told their captors about the things found there? If so, the spacemen could easily fly that distance, take what they needed, and be away before the People—or Jony—could cover half that journey back on foot.
Maba had been so excited about the finds. Jony could well imagine her telling these strangers about them. Or was Maba a prisoner?
Jony tensed. Movement about him. Not Otik alone, there were others of the People ringing him nearly around, advancing toward him. There was only one opening in their circle, downslope. To take that way of escape would bring him into view from the ship. He could only wait . . .
His suggestion to Otik might have touched off a reaction which—Jony's hand went to the loose collar. He remembered only too well those concealed fangs within it which Voak had displayed as a warning. On the other hand, he knew he had no chance of escaping from the clan's steady advance, nor could he use the staff—not against them!
Otik, then Trush, Huuf, two of the younger females—Itak, Wugi—none of the older members of the clan. Jony could do little against even Itak and Wugi; he could not choose to fight.
The newcomers squatted down as Otik had done, their staffs beside them where a paw-hand could drop easily to a familiar hold. Otik had something else in his grasp—a coil of the cord they used to weave their nets.
“Talk—” Otik signed.
About his wild plan for looting the storage place among the stone walls? Jony could only guess. He signed slowly, trying to make sure he chose each time the most effective gesture to clarify his meaning. Though, with the limits imposed upon him, he despaired of making them understand or believe what he had to tell.
He told of his own journey underground to a great cave—of the many strange things there. Finally of the rod Geogee had found, and what happened when, in the struggle to get it away from the boy, the alien power had been inadvertently fired. That they would believe in the instant disappearance of what it had been pointed at, Jony was doubtful. They listened, but did they understand?
No one signed a message for him to read as he finished. Instead they spoke among themselves, leaving Jony baffled as always by the succession of sounds which had no meaning for the ears of his species. Each made some comment in turn. Then, though Jony was not sure of what had been said, he sensed that the verdict was against him.
He reached for his staff, though he was sure he could never turn its terrible might against any of the People. But Otik had again gotten paw on that, and it was gone! At length Otik rose to his feet and loomed over Jony.
When Jony tried rising to face the young clansman, the weight of Trush's paw-hands on his shoulders held him where he was. Otik uncoiled his cord, hooked an end through the collar, and made one of the deftly tied knots the People used.
He gave a jerk, bringing the edge of the collar tight against Jony's throat as if he meant that as a warning. Then he turned away, and Jony, now released, had to follow. It was plain that he had worsened his cause with these clansmen, instead of bettering it. He was angry now with his own stupidity at voicing a suggestion which must have aroused their deep-set rage against their one-time captors, turning it toward himself.
The clan had no campsite, but they had taken up station within a thick covering of brush which would give them cover overhead if the flyer came cruising. There were four more awaiting the return of Otik's squad with their prisoner—three were females, the fourth old Gorni, who had once been chief, but who had yielded to Voak as his strength had lessened.
It was to him that Otik went, reaching down to put the end of Jony's leash in the paw-hand of the old one. One of Gorni's eyes was covered with a white film so that he had to always turn his head slightly to view anything directly before him, as he did now.
But he did not use sign language; instead he gave the leash a tug which again brought the collar painfully against Jony's flesh. At that rude demand that he sit, Jony dropped down. Otik also laid the metal staff before the elder, as if to clinch some argument. But Gorni only glanced at that briefly.
With his free hand, the other never losing that tight hold on the leash, the clansman began to sign very slowly:
“You are now walker on fours. You do what People say. You are People's thing.” He touched the fruit net looped about him. “This People's thing. You like this—not People—just thing!”
Jony wanted to loop both hands in the leash, tear it loose from the oldster's hold. He knew better than to make any such move. He was now a “thing,” perhaps having some use for the clan, but without any freedom to be Jony.
The anger which he had known, young as he was, when in the cages of the Big Ones, burned in him once more. Only he could see the side of the People, too. They did not trust him. What of those the flyer had taken—the spacemen who looked like Jony, who resembled the pictures in the storage place and the stone woman? Perhaps the People had always feared that Jony himself might revert, to become one with their enemies. Only when he was small had they tolerated him, as they did the twins, as a weak, helpless thing not to be feared. Then he had directly sought out the place of stones, aroused in them the fear that the old days might so return. After that, to add to their fear, had come the arrival of the sky ship and the capture of the clansmen. The People were only doing what they could for their own protection.
What was the worst was that he must have, by his suggestion of raiding the storage place, aroused in them a belief that he was intending to take over once again. They had undoubtedly dismissed his talk of their finding and using the weapons as being deliberate falsification on his part, or as an indication that he held them in contempt.
Looking at Gorni's impassive face, then glancing from one to another of those ringing him around, Jony could see no way of impressing them with the fact of his own innocence of any desire to harm them. Yet he had to do just that.
The ship might lift now, taking with it, into the unknown of the far skies, their own people and the twins! Above all else the People must somehow find a way to prevent that—though Jony could not see now any hope of rescue.
ELEVEN
Jony's leash was re
leased by Gorni, only to be fastened by another of those tough knots to a sapling strong enough to resist any attempt of his to break loose. For the moment the boy had to accept the knowledge that he could do nothing. But neither could he believe that this was the end, that the clan would continue to consider him a “thing,” and that he might not be able to find some way to rescue those on the ship.
If he could reach Maba or Geogee . . . Just as Rutee had once instructed and trained for the day when he could get to freedom, perhaps he could work through concentration to make the twins aid him now in the same fashion.
Wugi came near enough to place on the ground two fruits and a leaf twisted around about a handful of grass seeds. Even a “thing” was to be fed. And Jony ate the portion hungrily.
His metal staff remained lying on the ground near Gorni. Nor did the elder make the slightest move to examine it as Otik had. Jony eyed the sharp edge of the hook longingly. By the use of that the leash could be easily severed; he freed. But to go where, do what?
Impatience ate at him until he wanted to pound the wet ground with both hands and howl aloud his misery. If he could only make them understand! Concentrate on the ship? Or would such mental touch guide the spacemen here? He wanted . . .
Otik returned. The young clansman had been away in the brush, perhaps once more spying on the invaders. Going directly to Gorni he conveyed some report. Jony watched, longing to be able to understand. If he could only share such open communication perhaps he might make the People understand the folly of not listening to him. They had, he was sure, little idea of the weapons and instruments which the ship people might use. Jony's own knowledge was only the bits and pieces relayed to him by Rutee, who had, in turn, a very limited grasp of the subject. That, and what he had learned in the lab of the Big Ones. But those scraps of information were certainly infinitely more than the People possessed.