She hated this world. It was filth and death and decay without end. She had been hiding from that, as much as she could hide, these past centuries, waiting, waiting, until one day she might again have the stars. When a woman could be a captain of a great ship and not a wife or lover or chattel slave.
She sighed. She would do what she could for the People, but like all others except him, they would die. Perhaps, just perhaps, she could at least try to solve her more direct moral dilemma at the same time.
In the morning she summoned both Lori and Terry to her. The language was inadequate for the task, but they had no other in common.
“The scouts say that there is a way out for all of you. All of us.”
“Us?” Terry asked, more than hateful at what had been done to her.
“Yes. Us. Not a way to your village or mine but to another place. A place where you will no longer be of or look like the People. A place where you may be free. It is a— different kind of place. It is where I came from many, many lives ago.”
“Where do you come from?” Lori asked, wondering where this was leading.
Alama pointed up. “From there. From after there. From the stars behind the stars.”
Oh, great! Terry thought sourly. First she’s the Amazon Queen from Hell, now she thinks she’s E.T.
Lori, however, while not ready to accept it, was ready to at least not reject it. “You come from the stars?”
The small woman nodded. “I am here since the first tribes. I am in a trap. My way out is sent. You can come or stay and be of the People. You choose. I must go.”
“The star that made the great fire pit that brought us here. That is a boat to the stars?” Lori, too, was having trouble fitting the language to these concepts.
“Not a boat. A door. A boat is not needed.”
“And if we go there with you, they can take away these marks? These bones? This glue?”
Alama smiled. “The sacred word of Alama. You will not see those things again if you go.” She paused. “One thing more. The men with you die. Left here, they die. They go with me if you help and live. You will have to carry them. Can you? Run and climb and carry heavy man?”
“I do not know. I can try.”
“You can leave the hateful one to die!” Terry told her. “I will not carry him!”
“Both must go or not one of them. I cannot choose on your saying. If the one is evil, he will find the other place a way to change or die. It has a way of law, it seems. You need not choose now. First I must find a place for the People to live and prepare them for my going. And it will be hard to get to the door. Many men, many big weapons so that no more go away like you. For now I give you leave. Go to the tree in back of me. There in quiet voice you may speak your own tongue on this. There and no other place or time but I choose.”
It was another unexpected gesture, but if she really believed what she was saying, then it hardly mattered to them anymore. They were anxious to take advantage of it, no matter what.
“Is she crazy or what?” Terry whispered in the first English she’d tried in she didn’t know how long.
“I don’t think she is,” Lori replied. “I know it sounds mad, but it’s no crazier than this. Look, I heard the other women talking. They were preparing to ritually kill Campos and Gus. Like you, I don’t care about Campos, but I can see her point. But if it’s Gus and Campos or nothing, I say take them both.”
“You really think you can just walk into this meteor and come out on some other world?”
“Probably not. If we aren’t machine-gunned by the armed guards, we’ll wind up splat on top of that thing as targets or we’ll be burned to death. But there was something really weird about that meteor. You remember it. And Alama—she knows too much about too many things to be only an aboriginal priestess. Besides, have you looked at a reflection of yourself? You look like something out of National Geographic. So do I. I know I couldn’t go back like this, and I probably won’t make it a year out here. Or, worse, maybe I will. Can you imagine living the rest of your life with these people? At this point I am willing to accept even space creatures. The bottom line is, if it really doesn’t matter anymore if I live or die, what have I got to lose?”
Terry shook her head in wonder at the situation. “I don’t know. I sure don’t want to live as one of the tribe forever, but I couldn’t go back looking like this. Some of the women said that the tattoos use some kind of stuff that penetrates deeply, that they’ve seen the color on skulls. So much for plastic surgery. But the truth is, I’ve been doing a lot of soul-searching lately, and bad as it is, I’d rather live like this than die. I dunno—I’ve interviewed too many saucer nuts in my time to accept a story like that.”
Lori understood, in a way. “Still, how many leaders of Stone Age tribes could spin a story like that? These people don’t know anything outside the rain forest. Something was sure screwy about the way that meteor came in, the way it hit, the way it just sat there, the pulsing—even the dark shape on top that winked in and out. If I were normal, I would be on your side, but I’m not normal, I’m a Ph.D. turned into a Stone Age jungle girl. She may be crazy, but I’m desperate. Besides, think of poor Gus. If we try and Alama’s crazy, at least Gus will get out and get attention. If we don’t go along, they’re going to kill him.”
“You really think you can carry him all the way to that meteor?”
“Ordinarily, no. But I’ve got to.”
Terry stared at the strange little woman by the fire. “I wonder how she’s going to do it.”
Meteor Site A, Upper Amazon Basin
It was ironic that the two women adapted quicker and better to the life of the People after being offered a way out. Terry in particular took some delight in looking after the two men, particularly Campos, who had no idea who she was. Bound and drugged most of the time, allowed only a little exercise under watchful blowguns, neither was in great shape, but they at least seemed to have stabilized a bit.
Terry and Lori took the ceremonies of full initiation into the tribe, which involved a rather complex set of rituals culminating in drinking the blood of all the members of the tribe, which had been mixed with some juice in a gourd. This didn’t free them from work, but it gave them equal status with the others. Both spent long periods learning the ways of the People; Alama encouraged them and seemed quite pleased by their actions.
They finally picked a village site, well hidden and deep in the densest region of the jungle but located within two or three days walk of several more traditional tribal villages, so that they could at least get the one thing from men that nature could not provide. Making the huts, building the specialized structures of sticks and straw, coping with the driving rains—it was a real education.
Terry went along on a scouting expedition to one of the villages and saw that the tribe had at least some remote contact with the outside world. The bronze cross and small empty hut showed that missionaries had been there.
It said something about how easily she was adapting to the life that Terry never once considered that such contact provided a means of escape. Instead, she was quite pleased with how confidently she now moved through the forest and how well she had adapted to the hard life and way of survival of the People.
It was almost as if, Lori thought, Terry had burned all her mental bridges and was acting out some sort of fantasy. Lori, too, had acclimated well. She had certainly learned a lot of skills and had grown strong and self-reliant in her own way.
All of which pleased Alama no end. If she could get those two through, she thought, they would probably be the best prepared individuals ever to be dumped on that world.
Now, though, she would have to face the first barrier to be overcome.
She had told the tribe that the thing from the sky had come for her, to take her home. They hadn’t questioned it, but they were not at all happy about it. They had the law and well-trained leaders, but now they would have to see if they could survive on their own. Oddly, she felt wor
se about putting them in danger to get to the meteor than about leaving. After all the millennia, she was tired of the dying; she wanted, needed a challenge. This time, more than ever, she felt that she was ready for it.
Only the one small stand of trees remained for any sort of cover; the darkness would have to suffice the rest of the way, although the meteor still glowed brightly like some great floodlight in the ground, waiting for her.
The quartzlike hexagonal facets were incredibly regular, but the thing was not round. It might have been round once, but the part that had plowed into the ground here was irregular, jagged and misshapen, as if parts of it had been consumed and other parts had been broken off as it had made its way in. The crater should have been a couple of kilometers deep; instead, it was fairly shallow, only ten meters deep.
Looking at it from the treetops, Alama felt its energy and its life, felt its pull. Somehow she was certain that it knew she was there. And not quite on top but angled a little back was the spot that now and again turned into the deepest black, beckoning her.
She wished it were that easy. She wished that she’d been quicker recognizing it when it had struck, that she’d simply gone to it and seen it for herself before any of the scientists or military had gotten there. It would have been so much simpler.
The guards were Brazilian soldiers in camouflage fatigues, nasty-looking automatic rifles slung over their shoulders. They were a tough-looking bunch, but they looked extremely bored. Weeks, months—who could say how long it had been since the thing had hit?—of no activity and little else to do were taking their toll. Only two stood perfunctory guard, one at the camp and the other farther up at the equipment tent next to the crater, the other four playing cards and smoking cigars outside their big tent.
There seemed to be only two scientists currently in the camp, although the crater was ringed with instruments and, clearly, some effort had been made to take large samples. Probes ran from a portable generator right onto and into the meteor itself; long cables carried power to instruments guarded against rain and anchored against sudden wind. It had become routine.
There were signs all around that a near army had been there at one time, that many other tents and structures had once been set up here, and that a huge area had been cleared for such a group. Now just these few remained.
Lori in particular was somewhat shaken by the small size of the camp. How long had they been in the jungle? It had seemed weeks, no more, and the events of that frantic and terrifying night were still fresh in her mind, but mere weeks would not have reduced the world’s interest so much. The search after their mysterious disappearance would have slowed them down, and scientists the world over with visions of Nobel prizes would have been clamoring to be here—that the camp was so small and the scientific inquiry so routine meant it must have been a year… or longer.
It couldn ‘t be that long. Gus and Campos could not have survived their miserable half-drugged imprisonment that long. Then again, how long had it taken to build these tough, callused feet that no longer felt the jungle floor, these hard hands that did much heavy work, or the muscles she had developed? It all seemed to make no sense.
What did make sense was the two days they spent observing every move of the camp. The military helicopter came in the morning and often deposited a few people, probably scientists and research assistants, who checked the data, read out information from the instruments into their portable computers, and did a lot of routine maintenance work. They remained all day and were picked up by the helicopter again before nightfall, leaving only the guards and the two permanent party members there: an old white-haired man in khaki shirt and shorts and a young bearded man who wore boots and jeans and a kind of cowboy hat but usually went shirtless.
Terry climbed effortlessly up one of the trees and stared at the pulsing, glowing meteor during the night. She watched as the black hexagon came on and saw, or thought she saw, some kind of shimmering just above it. Then, startled, she saw a small black shape crawling on the meteor near the hole. A lizard of some kind, she realized. It reached the black area, seemed to pause for a moment, then stepped into it. For a brief second it seemed frozen, suspended in dark space, and then it winked out.
The equipment around the edge of the crater became more active, clicking and whining, then subsided. The scientists had measured the effect and the fate of the hapless reptile.
She came down the tree and stood there, chewing absent-mindedly on a finger while in thought, then sought out Lori.
“I am going to the men to see if they are able to help themselves,” Lori said. “I can carry one if I have to, but if they walk, is much help.”
“Bimi,” Terry said hesitantly, using Lori’s tribal name, “I cannot go with you.”
“You can! You have to! This life is not for you. Death comes young with the People. You belong Outside!”
“Outside I cannot go,” Terry reminded her. “And I just watch a lizard go into the black hole, and it cooked in fire!
Alama takes you all to death now, not life. Life can still be long.”
“I, too, watch things go in the hole. It is not like cooking. She says it is a door.”
“It is death! You stay here with me! For Alama, the men, it is quick and with no hurt. But not you!”
“Something says to trust Alama. I do. I must. Best take the risk than live as the People to death.”
“You are of the People! You think, speak first as one of the tribe. Have to think to speak other tongues. You are strong, tough. You know the magic of the potions. We can live happy here.”
“No. I cannot. I do not think you can, but we are not the same. Alama says the door will be no more when we go. If you do not come now, you cannot come.” She shifted mental gears, suddenly aware that Terry had a point on how they were thinking, and began whispering in English.
“Terry, I’m a scientist, not a witch or medicine woman. That is a great mystery. I’ve watched it as you have. I don’t know just what it is, but I am convinced that it is a machine, not a monster. I recognized some of the monitoring devices. They know it’s a machine, too. They’re trying to figure out what it is. They probably lost somebody to that door in the early stages, which is why they’re so low-key here. It’s too heavy to move, and I think they’re still too scared it’ll blow up. And a lot of that equipment is military stuff. Not Brazilian but American. I think they’ve evacuated the area as much as they could and are waiting until they figure out what to do next.”
“Suppose she’s right. Suppose it’s what she says. What’s it like in there or wherever you come out? You think they’ll be people, like Alama? Suppose it’s a probe or something? Poke and study and dissect you for science. She couldn’t tell you if she wanted to. Our one common tongue can’t handle it.”
“I’ll take the chance. I may not like her much, but I think I trust her. And is this life any better? No doctors, no vaccines, constant dawn-to-dusk hunting and gathering to eat? You’re an educated woman of the modern world.”
“I dunno. I spent ten years since college batting my head against the wall, getting shot at and beaten up and worse, no real home, no personal life to speak of, working sixty-, seventy-, eighty-hour weeks sometimes just to prove I was better than any of them. And what am I? After all that I’m still a line producer, no on-air anything, doing the same job they’re giving to twenty-two-year-old bimbos fresh out of school. And when I had my one shot, a year ago, a real producer’s job in Washington with ABC, I put them off because they begged me to cover fighting in Zaire. So I got stuck in this jerkwater hotel up the Congo. These soldiers came along; they shot most everybody and raped me and left me for dead. I came out anyway, but the ABC job’s gone and the rumor is that I lost my nerve! Lost my nerve! And now this happens. But, it’s a funny thing. I’m good at this. I have a family here. All women, and nobody but nobody questions my nerve! This is another planet, and I am already living on it.”
“But your family! Your friends!”
&n
bsp; “My parents split when I was ten. My father sits in Miami, laundering drug money and dreaming of the old Cuba. My mother spends her alimony sitting in a beach house on Dominica and stuffing white powder up her nose. I don’t have a family—I have a series of Catholic boarding schools. And I don’t have friends. I thought I did, but they all started whispering about my ‘nerve’ the first chance they got. I’ve had years of one-night stands and little else. Nobody is gonna miss me, even now.”
Lori was shocked. “I—I never knew…”
“Well, we never had the time to get to know each other well. Go if you must—I pray that it is as wonderful as you dream. I don’t know if I can live like this forever or not, but I realized a long time ago that if anybody was to get away without all of us getting killed, I would have to stay. I accept that.”
“What? No! I want you to come!”
“You know Alama’s plan. The four of us disappeared here—who knows how long ago now, but they still have guns up there. It will be necessary to have someone who can speak with them.”
“But you don’t know Portuguese!”
“No, but it is close enough to Spanish.”
“But you can’t go up there! You know how they’re supposed to be diverted!”
“It is not the same. If it is to work, I must go with them.”
“You have spoken to Alama about this?”
“Yes. She made some of the same arguments, sort of, but she said it was up to me. She knew, though, that the plan had a much better chance with me staying behind than going with you.”
“You can still change your mind.”
“Perhaps. Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe I will always regret this. But the fact is, I have little choice. I really believe I might wind up thinking this was the best choice for me. Time will tell.”
Lori could only hug her and say, “I hope for your sake that it is.”
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