It was indeed a strenuous afternoon. Selecting a site for a temporary shelter was simple; we are all loath to leave this gentle slope of beach, with its open visibility in all directions and at a reasonable distance from the unknowns in the forest. There is plenty of wood available in the forest. From a hasty survey, it looks like bare-trunked saplings, thin and strong, but we think the poles are actually downshoots from the mammoth trees, which support the heavy branches and their massive leaves. The leaves themselves, wide and stiff, would serve almost as boards, but they are very irregular in shape, and of course we have nothing to cut them with except Shirley's knife, which makes slow work of them. Nor have we fasteners, except for the long snaky vines and roots, which even Jinjur has agreed to use freely as lashings.
Eventually we collected enough material to begin. How awkward and difficult it was, to make even the simplest plan! Accustomed, as we all are, to plenty of charts and graphs and measuring devices, as well as to having James coordinate instantly all ideas, we were now reduced to talking, explaining, describing, waving arms and hands around; even, primitively, drawing in the sand! Like children, we find our dream castle becoming humbler and humbler, as the difficulties of construction become apparent. Somewhat discouraged by the evolution of the building into a sort of shed, I went off with Cinnamon and Carmen to begin fetching supplies.
I had cut several lengths of vine, using Shirley's knife, when yesterday's blisters began to burn. "I'll take a turn, Reiki," said Carmen kindly, and gratefully I handed her the tool. Shortly, she too was glad to pass it along to Cinnamon. By taking turns we were able to continue cutting, gathering, and carrying the vines. "George would be shocked, you know," said Carmen. "Only one tool between us, and so painful to use we give it up happily!"
"George would soon find out for himself," I said tartly. The blisters were becoming raw.
Finally, by dint of much trial and error, we succeeded in erecting two sturdy towers, connected at their top by a ridgepole made of the tallest sapling we could find. Along that support, and with its back to the strongest winds, we laid a lean-to sort of arrangement, alternating bases and tips of the saplings, and covered over with layered leaves, lashed down well by the vines. While Jinjur shouted directions from below, countermanded at nearly every step by Shirley—"Wait! I have a better idea!"—David crouched patiently at the top of a tripod, supported at its base by Richard and John. Like the spider monkey he somewhat resembles, he clambered agilely about, seizing the tips of the wavering saplings Nels extended, grunting, to him.
"Stay up there, David, and keep twisting those vines around that beam, while we make another support!" And he did wait, while the architects dithered about the exact spot for the second tripod. But when Arielle climbed to the top of the new one, she found the vines too stiff for her to knot. David swung to the ground, then, and replaced her at the job. Both of the slender workers compared palms later—there is considerable blood in the construction!
The structure is necessarily sturdy, because it must stand against these strong winds; it is also both wide and tall, as the slender trunks are surprisingly long and stiff for their weight—somewhat similar to bamboo. Both ends are enclosed, so that the whole affair is about seven meters deep and ten meters wide, and rises some three meters at the front. We covered the "floor" with as many springy softer branches as we had the patience to cut, and they make a welcome cushion between our bodies and the sandy rock. Viewed dispassionately, it is the most miserable "building" I have ever seen, but it feels wonderful to sit inside, out of the rain! To feel the warmth of the fire, and stare at the fresh blisters and scratches on my hands and arms, and sip from a steaming cup—while the thin fabrics in my clothes toast themselves dry! It couldn't last, and soon we were hard at it in the shallows again, sorting debris.
John said, "I'd really like to have something soothing to put on everyone's skin—the Christmas Branch could supply us with just the thing from its chemical synthesizer! But, in the absence of ointment, this seawater is probably just what's needed to keep your wounds clean and toughen up your skin. Fortunately, we probably don't have to worry about dangerous bugs in the soil, like tetanus, anthrax, and staph. There may be alien equivalents to them in the dirt, but hopefully they don't know how to attack anything as alien as our cells." The seawater treatment stung, but pretty soon our blisters and welts began to recede.
The rain stopped, briefly, about mid-afternoon, and we all paused in our labors to stare upwards. Alas, although there was no water falling from those thick clouds, they were roiling ominously; the winds above must be even stronger than they are here on the surface, and there is no hope of their being penetrable by a signal fire yet.
"If I'd known it was monsoon season, I'd have stayed home," grumbled Jinjur. Oddly, there popped into my head the ancient tradition of the Emperor of Japan decreeing, officially, the beginning and ending of the rainy season; I chuckled, and told Jinjur about it. "Oughtn't you to have that right, Jinjur?" I asked.
"Of course!" she responded. And in her most authoritarian tones, she proclaimed, "I hereby declare the rainy season over! Signed . . .Me, the Me!" To no one's real surprise, the slow drops began to fall again.
With occasional breaks for their own needs, the flouwen continued to bring items from the drowning lander. With commendable patience, they gathered up all the small items which were drifting about, and we harvested quite a crop of dead imps and housekeeping motiles which could be disassembled into pins, nails, and fasteners; coffee squeezers, drink flasks, spoons—I for one had no idea of the number of spoons we'd had with us! A great many more useful items we normally kept secured, either by straps or in compartments, and we left them for the time being, reluctant to instruct the flouwen to start pulling on things below. They can be very strong, when they can get sufficient purchase to tug, and their capacity for destroying something we might be able to obtain somehow, sometime, in better circumstances, were very real.
One of the treasures secured by Little White was the plastic bag in which I had packed my laces for this trip! There were a dozen of the ones I like best, and I was foolishly delighted to have them back. After rinsing, I hung them in the shelter of the trees, and they make a rather startling sight, their crisp elegance outlined against the rough bark.
With fire and water, Nels was able to mix together a large communal pot containing several sorts of our fast-thawing frozen foods, in a vessel I had never seen before. "Don't ask," he had said with a grin when he saw my look of inquiry.
It seemed to take a very long time for the pot to get hot enough to cook sufficiently, and while it was slowly getting to that stage we were able to smell the aromas of cooking—for the first time in how long? Arielle was increasingly fascinated, and rummaging through the small tins and bottles of the few retrieved seasonings, pounced on several which she insisted on adding to the mixture. The smells became even more savory, and by the time the meal was pronounced ready, our appetites were also. Indeed, with the unaccustomed exertions of hauling supplies, dragging wood, climbing and bending, I was very hungry, and the aroma from the stew made me dizzy. We have no means of preserving any of the meal, but that was not a problem as there was not a trace of it left.
Once more sipping some marvelously comforting tea from the cut-off bottoms of our squeezers cups (and what a nuisance they are! It takes a polishing with sand to remove the last traces of stew in order not to spoil the tea-flavor—I was surprised, for the cleaning imp in the galley had always taken care of that detail for us before), we lounged in the front of our lean-to to stare at the flames and plan for the morrow.
"It's tough not to be able to make any long-range plans," fretted Shirley. "And by long-range, I mean a week!" she added.
Carmen smiled, her tiny dimple darkening in the firelight. It struck me again, how lovely she is without a trace of her cherished cosmetics! "We had plenty of long-range plans. Maybe we still do. They're just on hold, and counting."
"Right," agreed Jinjur. "We
need to stay alert, ready to take advantage of a situation, or to protect ourselves, but in the meantime establish some sort of working routine. I've been in campaigns like that! So, we'll continue to stand watches, we'll keep on salvaging and sorting whatever the flouwen can bring up, and we'll keep the fire going. Eventually, this rain will let up enough for us to signal. We'll keep using the food we brought with us—no experimenting with anything that might be edible here—yet." The final word was soft, but flat. "Now about this signal fire—our options are still limited. With all the lightning-caused fires we mapped before landing—we need to make it clear this isn't a natural fire."
"How about a geometric shape? A circle, or square of several fires?" suggested David.
"A circle would look like one big fire from that high up," objected John. "And a square would have to be so precise; I'm not sure, without anything to measure with . . ."
"Possibly a long straight line?" asked Shirley.
"In Canada, forest fire sometimes make long line," said Arielle. "So straight, look like road."
I thought of what primitive tribes and clans might do under the same circumstances. They were almost as destitute as we. Then I remembered, the clans used to call their gatherings with a burning cross! I explained, eagerly. "They used a wooden one standing on the top of a hill, but we would need to make a series of fires in two rows. They needn't be exactly straight, for if we can get the whole thing going simultaneously, the configuration won't be like anything which would naturally occur."
To my surprise, Jinjur frowned. "A fiery cross . . .that's not a very civilized symbol, as I recall," she said levelly.
"A cross is a very ancient symbol of civilization," I maintained. "And the Celts used it, burning, to gather all the families for important meetings. It was an honorable symbol between allies, and the misuse of it by the vile Klan"—I practically spat the "K"—"couldn't permanently debase it!" The rest agreed, and Jinjur was persuaded. The long-dead Klan certainly means nothing to this planet, or this century, and the simple device will make as clear a message as we can send, with our limitations.
We began to succumb to weariness. The light, drenching rain makes little sound against the rough thatch of our overhead, or on the wet sand surrounding us. Our thin clothes, after steaming visibly in the warmth of the fire, are dry and comfortable, and we are feeling both exhausted and secure. The moaning wind only deepens the comfort of being under shelter, and the breathing of my sleeping companions is inaudible. I'm glad my watch is nearly over and I can stretch out for my share of oblivion!
EATING
Incredible though it seems, it has now been raining for more than a week. Occasionally there is a brief cessation of the drops, but the high gray clouds continue scudding steadily, obscuring any sight of the distant sky. We are growing accustomed to being so constantly damp, and it certainly keeps us from the unpleasantly grubby sensations of earthly camping trips, but we are more than ever grateful for the opportunity of an evening to dry out by our faithful little fire, and to sleep under cover. The roof of our lean-to is saturated, of course, but as long as we avoid touching it, it doesn't drip.
We have tried to stay busy during this time, with some result. The last of the free-floating items have been salvaged by the flouwen, and Little Red made no secret of the fact that he was tired of the job.
"Stuff! Too much stuff!" he shouted.
Jinjur insisted: "C'mon, Little Red, look around a little more down there! Can you open the tool locker?"
Little White was as definite as Little Red, though more reasonable. "We look, poke, tug. Nothing more loose, now." We were puzzled by the curious emphasis on the last word. Little Purple's explanation was not reassuring.
"Time, tides, waves—shake things around, maybe more to find, then."
Reluctantly, Jinjur dismissed the aliens. "Okay, start looking around. I want to know everything you find out about the plants, animals, rocks—whatever's down there!"
Cinnamon and I started to speak at once, but Jinjur cut us off with a loud, "Please! And thank you for all you've done—we need your help very much! Happy hunting!"
Cinnamon and I looked at each other in delight. Jinjur caught the look, and growled, "Can't very well confine 'em to quarters."
While we systematically used up the deteriorating frozen food, we began to prepare for the eventuality of finding replacements for it. Carmen and Shirley set off together early one day, and returned late and very tired, carrying a large crate slung between them. It was full of shards of black, shiny, glass-like rock.
"This obsidian is better quality than the stuff around home in Mexico," said Carmen. "I'm going to see if I can make a sharp edge or two." Some of the others joined her in the task, using a variety of techniques; pounding the edges with flat stones, grinding, heating in combination with all the other methods. However, Carmen seemed to catch the knack instantly. With glancing, short blows, she transformed one after another of the fragments of shiny material into crude-looking little tools with at least one wickedly sharp edge on each. They are not unpleasant to use just as they are, but we have decided they need handles.
"Umph!" said Arielle, followed by something muttered in French as she sucked her bleeding thumb. "Which edge is blade and which is not?"
We took to arranging the little knives with care, all the sharp edges facing in the same direction, and to protecting our hands with clumsily tied-on bits of bark or rags. (The smaller towels from the lander are rapidly disintegrating into very good rags, with the constant use we make of them!) Once again, it was necessary for each of us to be aware of the system, and follow it. I've never been camping with such a talky crew! But with ten of us busy about a variety of tasks, and no James to spare us from any of them, we learned very quickly to keep in communication.
"I'm through with the Mech-All!" is a frequent shout, and someone is always eager to take it away, for it is a far more familiar and useful device than the best obsidian blade.
"Still," as Carmen declared, "it's miraculous that there is obsidian available to us struggling survivors!"
All of us continue to keep watch on the various fauna and flora, as we move about. The strange whistles that disturbed our first night are still sounding, although we hear them so constantly they are beginning to seem familiar. Unlike birdcalls, these are at the same time more varied, both in pitch and duration, and more uniform—like speech.
"I wonder . . ." David speculated. It is apparent he has been aware of the sounds all the time, even when busy at something else. "There are tribes on earth who communicate with whistles, aren't there?"
I remembered then. "Yes! Mostly tribes who live in very mountainous . . .one of the Canary Islands, I recall. It's easier, over their deep chasms, to get messages across by whistling." We all, I think, tried to pay more attention to the sounds, but forgot them again in the stress of daily duties. But David, obviously, didn't—or couldn't. It's the way he's made, to be aware of tone almost unconsciously, and occasionally he will interject suddenly a reference to the sounds which we have ignored.
"Hear that? It's repeated that one bit for the last five minutes!"
The rest of us also are gathering useful information. Shirley remarked, one evening, "I tried twisting one of those sapling-things, just at the length I wanted it, and it snapped right off! It was one of the pale-colored ones, and was surprisingly brittle." (Shirley, I suspect, is a born architect; she already wants to enlarge our crude shelter!)
"Now, that will be useful to know," mused Jinjur. "It'd be a good idea, when anyone spots something like that during the day, to pass it along when we're all together. And Reiki!" she added. "Put that sort of thing into your recorder, with some sort of notation so we can find it again! I don't suppose you have an index?" She grinned.
"I've not needed one before," I explained. "All I need to remember is the date I entered something."
"What if it's a long time ago?" asked David.
I shrugged. "I just remember. I don't have
to work at it—it's just a sort of trick in my mind. No credit to me," I added hastily. "I've always done it." Shirley nodded understanding—her own memory is unique—and I was grateful, for the others were more skeptical, and I had to dredge up half a dozen old stories before they would believe me. Finally I offered, "I'll set up an ordinary file, for things we might all want access to, and show you how to find it." They were agreeable, and it was easy to teach them quickly. However, I later set up a password to guard the rest of the recorded accounts, having no wish to share quite everything with my friends!
In spite of all our private and desperate worries, none of us can resist speculating on the strange aspects of life here. How do the plants manage to survive on the most barren-appearing soils? And why are they so arranged as to let no drop of water escape? It would seem there is plenty of water available as such, so perhaps there is something very precious in the rain. These, and other observations, are tantalizing to us in their alienness.
"Be careful not to assume anything that exists here is similar to something we were familiar with on Earth," had been Jinjur's strong injunction before we crashed. Even as we struggle to survive, we are kept very much aware of our ignorance of the life-forms here.
We have discovered, and made use o,f several ponds of fresh water, ranging from a wide, shallow pool with a clean sandy floor, to a deeper, steeply-sided bowl alive with quick-darting fish, but with most unpleasant-smelling water. We use the ponds as well as the lagoon for swimming; both are pleasant, and I particularly enjoy going dripping from one to the other. The buoyancy of the ocean and the pushing of the waves is exhilarating, but the clean warmth of the ponds is refreshing afterward. John stared thoughtfully into the surface of the deeper lake for quite a time one day, wading in the shallows and stooping over to look, like a meditative heron. That evening, as we relaxed, he pulled forth a length of slender vine, and two sticks, which he had apparently rubbed smooth in the sand—they had quite a polished look about them. He began to manipulate the vine along the sticks, and then looked up at our astonished faces with some pride.
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