by Julian May
“Good,” said the Chief. “Public Works. Vanda-Jo.”
A taffy-haired woman with the face of a madonna and the voice of a drill sergeant spoke up. “We’ve finished the masked trail from here to the staging area. A hundred and six bloody kilometers, invisible from the air. Corduroyed the last two kloms through the swamp, and all that wasn’t a bitch! Still putting up the thorn boma around the staging camp to keep most of the critters out and the recruits in.”
“How about the launching ramps?”
“Decided on pontoons. Inflated skins and boarding. Put ’em up at the last minute. Pegleg and his lads are contributing the skins.”
“Good. Hunting and Public Safety.”
“Nothing much new from me,” Uwe said. “Most of my people are working with Vanda-Jo or Phil. I’ve liaised with the commissary at High Vrazel to help with quantities of game and staples when the extra bods start arriving. And we’ve set up a procedure for processing new arrivals here at Hidden Springs before sending them to the river.”
“Sounds okay. Domestics.”
Old Man Kawai pursed his scored lips. “There is no way we can come up with more than a hundred boiled-leather hard hats and chest guards by D-Day. You know how long it takes to shape and dry that stuff, even with the forms filled with hot sand. The volunteers are just going to have to go mostly bare-ass unless you want our people deprived. Do shimasho? I’ve done my best, but I’m no miracle man.”
“The shortage can’t be helped,” Burke said soothingly. “How about the camouflage nets?”
“We’ll be putting the big one in position tomorrow, just in case they get back early with the exotic flyer.” The wizened ancient threw an anxious glance at the Chief. “Do you really, think they’ve got a chance, Peo?”
“Not much of one,” Burke admitted “But we won’t give up hope until the last hour before the Truce… Human Services.”
“Linen bandages ready,” Amerie said. “We’re assembling stores of oil and alcohol and all of the AB we can scrape up. Fifteen fighters have been rough-trained as front-line medics.” She paused, her face furrowed with determination. “I want you to change your mind about having me accompany the fighters, Peo. For the love of God, when will they need me more than in a battle?”
The Native American shook his head. “You’re the only doctor we have. Probably the only one in the Lowlife world. We can’t have you at risk. There’s the future to think about. If we do liberate Finiah, we may be able to de-torc other medical people. If we fail and the troops come across the Rhine to our staging area… it may be a long time until the next war. Our fighters will tend their own injuries. You stay here.”
The nun sighed.
“Industry,” said Burke.
“We brought back two hundred and twenty kilos of iron,” Khalid said. “Four of our men died. We have enough experienced people left to begin final work on the weapons as soon as we get some sleep.”
There were somber congratulations all around.
“Provisioning.”
“We’ve enough stored here to feed five hundred people for two weeks,” Marialena said. “That does not include the five tons of instant rations we’ll distribute to fighters going down to camp. You don’t want any cooking going on down by the Rhine where the Tanu might spot the smoke.” She pulled a handkerchief from the sleeve of her pink and yellow gown and mopped her ample brow. “Those poor souls are going to curse pemmican and parched bulrush roots before this thing is over.”
“If that’s all they curse,” Burke said, “they’ll be lucky. All right, that leaves my report. Warlord in Chief. I’ve received word from Pallol, the Firvulag generalissimo, that his forces will hold themselves combat-ready for the last three days in September. Under optimal circumstances we’ll mount the attack before dawn on the twenty-ninth, which will give us nearly two full fighting days before the Truce officially begins on October first at sunrise. After that, we humans’ll be on our own, and Finiah better be ready for mop-up. I’ll have more details on plans of attack at the war council later. Okay? Now, new business. We’ll consider the matter of the Howler spy as already introduced and sent to Public Safety for action.”
“The final preparation of the iron weapons,” Khalid said. “My men will soundproof one of the vented caves and turn it into a smithy, I’ll need some help from Phil’s people.”
“More new business?”
“We will need more alcoholic drink,” Marialena said. “Mead or beer from the Firvulag. I can’t have the volunteers swilling our young wines.”
Burke chuckled. “Perish the thought. Uwe, will you sound out the High Vrazel people on that?”
“Check.”
“Any more new business?”
Amerie hesitated. “Perhaps it’s too soon to bring this up. But there is the matter of the second phase of Madame’s plan.”
“Hai!” cried Old Man Kawai. “If Finiah is a success, Madame will want to send others south immediately!”
Philemon was uneasy. “We’ll do well to accomplish even a small part of the first phase of Madame’s plan, much less the other two. I say, leave this to Madame to work out when she returns. It’s her scheme. Perhaps she and that wild little person, Felice, will have worked something out.”
“Caracoles,” grumbled Marialena. “I must consider the later phases, even if the rest of you shirk your responsibility. If our people must go south without proper provisions, it is I who receive the cowchip bouquet! Ahhh, I’ll do what I can.”
“Thank you, querida,” the Chief said peaceably. “I’ll talk with you tomorrow about a possible division of rations. But I think that’s the best we can do for now on Phase Two or Three planning. There are too many unknown factors…”
“Such as who will survive Finiah!” wailed Old Man Kawai. “Or, if we even mount the Finiah attack in the first place!”
Vanda-Jo slapped one hand on the table. “Tails up! No defeatism allowed! We’ve going to hit those high-pocket bastards like they’ve never been hit before. And, Khalid, I’ve got dibbies on one iron arrowhead, if you please. There’s a certain Tanu stud on the other side of the Rhine whose ass belongs to me.”
“If you’re sure that one will do it,” the metalsmith laughed.
“Order,” Burke muttered. “Chair will entertain a motion to table strategy planning for the Grand Combat.”
“So move,” said Amerie. It was quickly affirmed and seconded.
“Any more new business?” the Chief asked. Silence.
“Move adjournment,” said Old Man Kawai. “Past my bedtime.”
“Second,” said Uwe, and the Steering Committee meeting came to an end. Everyone except Chief Burke bade Amerie goodnight and slipped away into the shadows. The quondam judge stretched out his wounded leg for the nun to examine.
At length she said, “There’s nothing more I can do for you, Peo. Hot soaks and moderate exercise to keep the muscles from tightening. I can give you a herendorf to block the pain on D-Day.”
He waved a deprecating hand. “We’ll save it for somebody who really needs it.”
“As you like.”
They went outside, where the village was quiet except for faint insect noises. It was nearly midnight and the moon was still down. Burke craned his neck and studied the starry vault of the sky.
“There it is, just above the rim of the canyon,” he said, pointing.
“What?” she inquired.
“Ah, I forgot you were a newcomer, Amerie. The constellation we call the Trumpet. See the triangular bell, the four bright stars forming the straight tube? Take special note of the mouthpiece star. It’s the most important one in all the sky, at least to the Tanu and Firvulag. On the day when it culminates at midnight over Finiah and High Vrazel, those are the oldest settlements, remember, it will mark the opening of the five-day Grand Combat.”
“The date?”
“By our Milieu calendar, around October 31 or November 1.”
“You’re kidding!”
�
��It’s true. And the noon culmination that takes place exactly six months later comes around May Day. The exotics have another big show then, which Tanu and Firvulag celebrate separately, the Grand Love Feast. Most popular with the females of the species, it’s said.”
“That’s really very odd,” Amerie said. “I’m no folklorist, but those two dates…”
“I know. Only in our time, there was no good explanation, in astronomy or anything else, for the ritualization of those days rather than any others occurring about the same times.”
“It’s ridiculous to assume a correlation.”
“Oh, certainly.” The Native American’s face was inscrutable in the starlight.
“I mean, six million years.”
“Do you know the significance of the mouthpiece star? It’s a marker. Their home galaxy lies almost directly behind the star.”
“Oh, Peo. How many light years?”
“A hell of a lot more than six million. So in one way, they’ve come even farther away from home than we have, poor devils.”
He gave her a brief salute and limped away, leaving her standing beneath the stars.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“But it isn’t blue!” Felice protested. “It’s brown.”
Madame changed the course of their dinghy to avoid a stranded snag. “The color brown, it lacks that certain cachet. The composer wished to evoke the river’s beauty.”
The girl gave a contemptuous snort as she studied the terrain “This place would never win any prizes. Too dry. It looks like it hasn’t rained for months.” She knelt upright in the bow of the little boat and scanned the open dun-colored slopes with the aid of Madaine Guderian’s little monocular. Only in the arroyos and in the flats nearest the Danube were there areas of green. The widely scattered groves of trees had a dusty bluish look.
“I can see a few small herds of hipparions and antelopes,” the girl said after a time. “Nothing else seems to be alive in those uplands on the left bank. No sign of the crater. Nothing distinctive at all except that little volcano yesterday. You don’t think we could have passed it by, do you? This damn river really rolls”
“Richard will tell us at noon.”
The old woman and the athlete had shared one decamole boat since the party had emerged from the Water Caves nearly two days ago. Claude, Martha, and Richard occupied a second boat that drifted a few dozen meters ahead of them on the swift current of the Bright Ystroll. In spite of the drought they had made splendid time, since the flood received most of its water from the Alps, which shone white in the far south. On the previous night they had pulled up on a wooded gravel bar to sleep, the Bogle having warned them against camping on shore. They were grateful for their isolation when they were awakened later by the cries of hyenas. Claude told them that some of the Pliocene species attained the bulk of large bears and were active predators as well as scavengers.
For navigation, they had one precious map. Back at the Tree, Richard had traced pertinent portions from the fading plass of a venerable Kiimmerley +Frey Strassenkarte von Europa (Zweitausendjahrige Ausgabe), which a nostalgic Lowlife treasured as his dearest memento of times to come. The old road map was dim and difficult to decipher, and Claude had warned Richard that the watershed of the Pliocene Danube was going to be greatly altered during the coming Ice Age by volumes of glacial till washing down from the Alps. The tributary streams of the upper Danube that were shown on the map would likely occupy different positions during the Pliocene; and the bed of the great river itself would lie farther south, twisted all out of recognition. The travelers could not hope to follow Galactic Age landmarks to the Ries crater. But there was one precious bit of data from the old map that would have retained its validity over six million years: the exact longitudinal component in kilometers between the meridian of High Vrazel peak (alias Grand Ballon) and that of the Ries (symbolized on the map by the future city of Nordlingen, which lay within what would be a mere ringwall plain on the Elder Earth). No matter how the Ystroll wandered, it was still bound to cross the Ries meridian. As nearly as Richard had been able to determine from the decrepit plass of the road map, the linear distance was 260 kilometers, three and one-half degrees of longitude east of the “prime meridian” of High Vrazel.
Richard had set his accurate wrist chronometer for precisely noon at High Vrazel and had carefully improvised a quadrant to measure the solar angle. Every day, the quadrant could be used to tell them local noontime, and the difference between this and p.m. noon shown on the watch could be used to calculate the longitude. When they reached the Ries meridian on the Danube, all they had to do was march due north to reach the crater…
One of the figures in the lead boat raised an arm. The craft pulled in to shore.
“There’s a little break in the northern highlands there,” Felice said. “Maybe Richard has decided it’s our best bet.” When they had beached their boat next to the other one, she asked, “What d’you think, guys? Is this it?”
“Pretty close, anyhow,” Richard said. “And it doesn’t look like too bad a hike, for all it’s uphill. I calculate thirty kilometers north should hit the lower rim. Even if I’m a little off, we should be able to see the thing from the crest of those northern hills. Damn crater’s supposed to be more than twenty kloms wide, after all. How about lunch, while I set up one more sun shot?”
“I’ve got fish,” Martha said, raising a string of silvery-brown shapes. “Richard’s excused for his navigating chores, and that leaves you two to dig the perishin’ bulrushes while Madame and I get these to grilling.”
“Right,” sighed Claude and Felice.
They made their fire in a well-shaded spot near the edge of a large grove, clear water came trickling down a limestone ledge to disappear into a muddy depression that swarmed with little yellow butterflies. After fifteen minutes or so, the delectable smell of roasting young salmon came wafting to the tuber grubbers.
“Come on, Claude,” Felice said, sloshing a net full of lumps up and down in the water to rinse them. “We’ve got enough of these things.”
The paleontologist stood quietly, up to his knees in the river among the tall stalks. “I thought I heard something. Probably beavers.”
They waded back to the bank where they had left their boots. Both pairs were still there, but something, or someone, had been messing about with them.
“Look here,” said Claude, studying the surrounding mud.
“Babyfootprints!” Felice exclaimed. “Screw me blind! Could there be Howlers or Firvulag in this country?”
They hurried back to the fire with the tubers. Madame used her farsensing metafunction to scan the area and professed to sense no exotic beings.
“It is doubtless some animal,” she said, “with prints that mimic those of children. A small bear, perhaps.”
“Bears were very rare during the early Pliocene,” Claude said. “More likely, ah, well. Whatever it is, it’s too small to do us any harm.”
Richard came back to the group and tucked map, note-plaque, and quadrant back into his pack. “We’re near as damn all,” he said. “If we really hump this afternoon, we might get there fairly early tomorrow.”
“Sit down and have some fish,” Martha said. “Doesn’t the aroma drive you wild? They say that salmon is just about the only fish that’s nutritionally complete enough to serve as a steady diet. Because it has fat as well as protein, you see.” She licked her lips, then gave a strangled squeak. “Don’t… turn… around.” Her eyes were wide. The rest of them were sitting on the side of the fire opposite her. “Right behind you there’s a wild rama.”
“No, Felice!” Claude hissed, as the athete’s muscles automatically tensed. “It’s harmless. Everybody turn very slowly.”
Martha said, “It’s carrying something.”
The little creature, its body covered with golden-tan fur, stood a short distance back among the trees, trembling noticeably but with an expression of what could only be called determination upon its face. It was
about the size of a six-year-old child and had fully humanoid hands and feet. It carried two large warty fruits, greenish bronze streaked with dull orange. As the five travelers regarded it with astonishment, the ramapithecine stepped forward, placed the fruits on the ground, then drew back.
With infinite caution, Claude rose to his feet. The little ape backed up a few paces. Claude said softly, “Well, hullo there, Mrs Thing. We’re glad you could stop by for lunch. How’s the husband and kiddies? All well? A little hungry in this drought? I’m not surprised. Fruit is nice, but there’s nothing like a bit of protein and fat to keep body and soul together. And the mice and squirrels and locusts have mostly migrated into the upper valleys, haven’t they? Too bad you didn’t go along with them.”
He stooped and picked up the fruits. What were they? Melons? Some kind of papaya? He carried them back to the fire and took two of the larger salmon and wrapped them in an elephant-ear leaf. He put the fish down in the exact spot where the fruit had been and withdrew to his place by the fire.
The ramapithecus stared at the bundle. She reached out, touched a greasy fish-head, and put the finger into her mouth. Giving a low crooning call, she everted her upper lip.
Felice grinned back. She drew her dirk, hefted one of the fruits, and sliced it open. A mouth-watering sweet smell arose from the yellowish-pink flesh. Felice cut off a tiny slice and took a bite of it. “Yum!”
The rama clucked. She picked up the package of fish, everted her lips over her small teeth once again, and ran away into the trees.
Felice called out, “Give our regards to King Kong!”
“That was the damnedest thing,” Richard said. “Smart, aren’t they?”
“Our direct hominid ancestors.” Claude stirred up the tubers.
“We had them for servants in Finiah,” Martha said. “They were very gentle and cleanly little things. Timid, but they would work conscientiously at the tasks given them by torc wearers.”
“How were they cared for?” Claude asked, curious. “Like little people?”
“Not really.” Martha said. “They had a kind of barn adjacent to the house, where they lived in partitioned stalls, almost like the small cave rooms filled with straw. They were monogamous, you see, and each family had to have its own apartment. There were community areas, too, and dormitory nooks for the singletons. The childless adults worked for about twelve hours, then came home to eat and sleep. The mothers would care for their young for three years, and then put them in charge of ‘aunties’, old females who acted for all the world like schoolteachers. The aunties and other very old males and females played with the children and cared for them when the parents were absent. You could see that the parents were unhappy at having to leave the little ones, but the call of the torc couldn’t be denied. Still, the rama-keepers told me that the auntie system was a variant of one used by the creatures in the wild. It generally produced well-adjusted individuals. The Tanu have raised ramas in captivity for as long as they’ve lived on this planet.”