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Paul Mason stared into blue calm: airy motion of branches against thesky, a mystery remembered from long ago, in a place called NewHampshire. Those years were not dead: secretly the mind had broughtthem here. _What a small journey! Less than five light-years: on astar map you could hardly represent it with the shortest of lines...._He was without pain, and cool. Time? Why, that amiable thud of a heartin a firm, familiar body (his own, surely?), that was indicating time.The boy in New Hampshire, after sprawling on his lazy back anddiscovering the miracle of sky--hadn't he tried to paint it, eventhen? Messed about with his uncle's palette, creating a daub thathad--oh, something, a little something. _Very well. Once upon a timethere was a painter named Paul Mason_.... Dorothy....
"You're back--oh, darling! No, Paul, don't sit up fast or your head'llhurt. Mine did." Now she was curling into the hollow of his arm,laughing and weeping. "You're back...."
A thin old man sat cross-legged on gray moss. Paul asked him, "Howlong?"
Christopher Wright smiled, twisting and teasing the skin of his gauntthroat, gray with a thick beard stubble. "A day and a night, the nursesays. You know--the nurse? You were kissing her a moment ago. It'searly morning again, Paul. She was never quite unconscious, sheclaims. I recovered an hour ago. No ill effects. It knocked out theothers at nightfall--predictable. They were exposed to Lucifer's airthirteen hours later than we were." Paul saw them now, lying on bedsof the gray--moss? And where he and Dorothy clung to each other wasthe same pleasant stuff--dry, spongy, with an odor like clover hay."Beds by courtesy of Mijok." Wright nodded toward the gray giant, whohad also brought moss for himself and now sprawled belly down,breathing silently, the bulge between his shoulder blades lightlyrising and falling. Mijok's face was on his arm, turned away towardthe purple shadow of forest.
Dorothy whispered, "He watched over us all night."
"So you were conscious all the time? Tell me."
Dorothy kept her voice low. Paul noticed the towering slimness of thelifeboat beyond the barrier of branches, reversed--Ed Spearman's work,he supposed. It pointed toward the west. Turned so, the jet wouldblast toward the lake, harming nothing. Its shadow held away the heatof the sun, a gleaming artifact of twenty-first century man, the onealien thing in this wilderness morning. The sickness, Dorothy said,had taken her with a sudden paralysis: she could see, hear, be awareof boiling fever, but could not move. Then even the sense of heat lefther--she was only observing eyes, ears, and a brain. She had had afantasy that she was dead, no longer breathing. "But I breathed." Hersmall brown face crinkled with a laughter rich in more than amusement."It's a habit I don't mean to abandon."
"Neurotoxin," said Wright, "and a damn funny one. Back on Earth, whenI believed myself to be a doctor, I never heard of anything like it."
The condition had lasted all day, she said; at nightfall her sense oftouch had gradually returned. She could move her hands, later her feetand head. At length she had sat up, briefly blinded by pain in theforehead, then she had given way to an overwhelming need for sleep. "Igot a glimpse of you, Paul, and tumbled off into a set of dreams thatwere--not so bad, not so bad. I woke before sunrise. Different. Don'task me how. Never felt healthier. Not even weak, as you should beafter a fever. But Doc--what if the illness--"
Wright looked away from the terror that had crossed her face. "If yougo on feeling all right, we can assume nothing's wrong with the baby.Don't borrow trouble, sugarpuss--we've got enough."
"Maybe," Paul suggested, "the illness was just--oh, some of our Earthmetabolism getting burned out of us. A stiff acclimation course."Wright grunted, pinching his long nose. Paul said, "Wish it had burnedout the yen for a cigarette that I've had for eleven years."
Sears Oliphant, the only other with some medical knowledge, had takencharge immediately after their collapse. "He is--scared, Paul,"Dorothy murmured. "Of Lucifer, I mean. I could feel it when I was justa pair of eyes and ears. More physical shrinking in him than in therest of us, and he's fighting it back with all he's got. He's a verybig man, Paul...." Sears looked peaceful enough now, in the dark sleepof the sickness, his moon face bristling with black beard growth butrelaxed and bland. On another couch of moss, Spearman was morerestless, powerful arms twitching as if he needed to fight thedisaster even in sleep. Ann Bryan was deeply flushed and moaned alittle now and then. "Ed was all right too. Considerate. Took allSears' orders without any fuss or question; I don't think he's muchscared. He feels he can bull his way through anything, and maybe he'sright." Dorothy's helpless eyes had also seen Mijok bringing moss ingreat armfuls. This, she thought, had helped Ed Spearman to accept thegiant as a man and perhaps as a friend. She remembered Mijok raisingPaul and herself in one careful swing of his arms to set them downbeside each other on the moss. Later she had watched him turning thelifeboat under direction of Spearman's blunt gestures. Its length wasthirty-four feet, its weight over three tons Earth gravity--more here.One gray-white arm had lifted the tail and swung the boat on itslanding gear as a man might push a light automobile. "I wasn't afraid.After dark, when I knew the sickness had got the others, I stillwasn't afraid. Believe me? I could see Mijok moving around. Once Iheard him growl--I think he was driving something off. And then whilethe red moon was coming up, he sat by us--his eyes are red in thedark, Paul, not green. He smells musky at close range, but clean. Iwasn't afraid. Now and then he'd look us over and smile with his funnyblack lips and touch the furry back of his finger to our foreheads....I could see the blue fireflies, Paul. Someday you'll make up storiesabout them for the baby.... I heard that crying again--much nearerthan when we heard it that first night by the other lifeboat. Like agroup of children crying, if you can imagine that synchronized, almostmusical. Mijok growled and fretted when it began, but it came nonearer. It had stopped when I woke."
"Some of Earth's critters sounded human--panthers, owls, frogs--"
"Ye-es. Just possibly something like tree frogs...."
Wright said, "Mijok brought us raw meat this morning before he went tosleep, something like a deer haunch. The fire bothers him--heevidently didn't go near it last night after the others collapsed."
"Ed tried to show him about fire," Dorothy said. "I remember. Mijokwas scared, and Sears told Ed to let it wait."
"Meat was good too." Wright smirked. "We got the fire going, and Mijokdid try some cooked and liked it. You and Dorothy can have sometomorrow if I don't turn purple."
"Not guinea-pig," said Dorothy. "Just pig."
"Hungry?" Wright tossed Paul a ration package.
"Gah!" But he opened it. "Learned any more of Mijok's words?"
"No. He won't have many. Nouns, simple descriptives. Must have somecontinuing association with his own breed, or he'd have no words atall. A hunter--with only nature's weapons, I think. That haunch wastorn, not cut--some hoofed animal smaller than a pony, fresh-killedand well bled. He must have got it while Dorothy slept. It may havestrayed into the camp during the night. I think Mijok lives in thewoods, maybe not even a shelter or a permanent mate. Anthropology IA."said Wright, and bowed in mimic apology to the sleeping giant. "Thosepygmies will be something else again--Neolithic. Wish I understoodthat bulge between the shoulder blades. All the creatures we've seenhave it--even that damn black reptile, I believe, though things weretoo mixed up to be sure."
Mijok woke--all at once, like a cat. He stretched, extending his armstwelve feet from wrist to wrist. He smiled down at Paul. He studiedthe helpless ones, peering longest at Ann Bryan; the black-haired girlwas breathing harshly, fidgeting. Now and then her eyes flickered openand perhaps they saw. Softly as smoke Mijok stepped into the shadow ofthe trees and listened. Wright remarked, "Speaking of that reptile,we should set up a monument to it. Nothing luckier could have happenedthan that chance to lend Mijok a hand." His gray eyes fixed on Paul,lids lowered in a speculative smile. "I'm not the only one whoremembers, Paul, that you were the first to go to his help. He hasn'tforgotten.... Dot, you're sure Ed understood that we have a friendthere?"
"He
seemed to, Doc. I watched them. They got along--practicallybuddies."
Paul saw the bandage was still on Mijok's arm, earth-stained and withfragments of gray moss, but not disarranged; the bandage on his ownshoulder had been removed. The flying beast's attack had left only aheavy scratch, which looked clean; there was no pain, only an itching.The meadow was empty of brown wings. The dead fish were gone from thelake. Perhaps other scavengers had been busy in the thirteen-hournight. The water was an innocent blue, a luminous stillness under thesun.
Mijok stole out into the grass, gazing westward along the line wheremeadow met jungle. Returning, he squatted by Wright and muttered,"_Migan_." He spread a hand three feet above the ground; two fingersdrooped and indicated the motion of walking legs. Paul suggested:"Pygmies?"
"Could be." Mijok stared eloquently at Wright's rifle then crouched atthe barrier of branches, complaining in his throat. Taking up his ownrifle, Paul joined him. Dorothy hurried to the lifeboat and came backwith field glasses for him and Wright and herself. In spite of thegreat planet's heavy pull, her body moved with even more lighteasiness than it had shown in the unreal years of _Argo_. With theglasses, vague motion a quarter mile away in the meadow leapedshockingly into precision.
The pygmies were not approaching but heading out from the edge of theforest, a group of nine, barely taller than the grass, bald red headsand shoulders in single file. The rearmost had a burden: seven otherscarried bows, with quivers on the right hip. "Left-handed," Paulobserved aloud. The leader was the tallest--a woman, with a longspear. All were sending anxious glances at the sky and toward thehuman shelter; their motions suggested a fear so deep it must be pain,yet something drew them out there in spite of it. The pygmy with theburden, a rolled-up hide, was also a woman. The leader was bald asthe others, slender, muscular, her head round, with prominent foreheadand thin nose, tattooed cheeks. The bowmen had only simple loincloths,and belts for their arrow quivers. The women's knee-length grassskirts were like the Melanesian, but the leader's was dyed a brilliantblue. Her two little pairs of breasts were youthfully firm andpointed. Dorothy murmured, "American civilization would have gone madabout those people."
"What a girl!" Wright sighed. "I mean Dorothy--the Dope."
"Even a dope can be jealous. Do you s'pose Mrs. Mijok has--Oh! Oh,poor darling! Not funny after all, gentlemen----"
The pygmy leader had turned full face, as the nine paused at trampledgrass. She wore a necklace of shell. These had no glitter, but theiryellow and blue made handsome splashes against the red of her skin.Reason told Paul that she could see at most only dazzling spots wheresunlight might be touching the glasses he had thrust through wiltedleaves. It made no difference: she was staring directly into him,making her grief a part of his life. A still-faced grief, too profoundfor any tears, if she knew of tears. The green cat eyes lowered; shestabbed her spear into the ground and lifted her arms, a giving,yielding motion. Her lips moved--in prayer, surely, since all but oneof the men were bowed, performing ritual gestures toward whatever layon the ground. The one who did not bow never ceased to watch the sky.The prayer was brief. The woman's left hand dropped meaningly, thehide was unrolled, and its bearer raised what the grass had hidden--nomore than a skull and a few bones, a broken spear, a muddy scrap thatmight have been a grass skirt. The hide was folded gently over these;the group went on.
"Dorothy--those things you saw running when we were circling down--Imissed 'em," Wright said. "Poor eyesight, and seems to me the air wasstill misty from _Argo's_ crash in the lake. They were going south,away from here? And they could have been--people like these?"
"Yes. Hundreds or thousands of them. I suppose the crash of _Argo_must have seemed like the heavens falling. The lifeboats too."
"I think we interrupted a war."
"These would be survivors? Live in this part of the jungle maybe?Looking for what's left after those--those flying beasts--"
"It makes sense," Wright said. "They're more afraid of the sky than ofour setup over here. Maybe we're gods who came down to help them. Ifwe did help them. Look: they've found another.... Yes, now theprayer.... Wish Mijok wasn't so afraid of them. Inevitable. To them Isuppose he's an ugly wild animal. Different species, similar enough tobe shocked at the similarity. 'Tain't good."
"Do we try for a foot in both camps?"
"Paul, I think I'll take a rain check on answering that.... Ach--if Icould go out there now--communicate--"
"No!" Dorothy gasped. "Not while the others are still sick."
"You're right of course." Wright fretted at his beard stubble. "I getsillier all the time. As Ed would tell me if he were up and around.It's the high oxygen...."
There were brown splashes in the sky. The pygmies saw the peril firstand darted for the woods--an orderly flight however--the woman withthe hide in front, the blue-skirted woman next, then the bowmen. Threeof the latter turned bravely and shot arrows that glittered andwhined. The brown beasts wheeled and flapped angrily upward, thoughthe buzzing arrows dropped far short of them. The pygmies gained thetrees; the omasha scouted the edge of the woods, squawking, three ofthem drifting toward the lifeboat, weaving heads surveying the ground.Paul gave way to unfamiliar savage enjoyment. "Do we, Doc?"
"Yes," said Wright, and took aim himself.
All three were brought down, at a cost of four irreplaceable riflebullets and two shots from Dorothy's automatic. Mijok bellowed withsatisfaction but recoiled as Wright dragged a dirty brown carcass intothe clearing. "A dissection is in order." Mijok grumbled and fidgeted."Don't fret, Mijok." Wright pegged down the wings of the dead animalwith sharp sticks and drew an incision on the leathery belly with hishunting knife. "Good head shot, Paul--this one's yours. We'll do abrain job from one of the others, but I think we'll let that wait forSears--oh my, yes...! Doesn't weigh over thirty pounds. Hollow boneslike a bird's, very likely. Hope they'll keep."
"You hope," Dorothy sniffed. "What do you do when I turn housewife andinstruct you to get that awful mess the hell off my nice clean floor?"
"Dope! And you my best and only medical student." He worked at thecutting dubiously, inexpertly. "Conventional mammalian setup, more orless. Small lungs, big stomach. Hah--two pairs of kidneys?" He spreadthe viscera out on the wing. "Short intestine, also like a bird. Andshe was preparing a blessed event multiplied by--count 'em--six."
"Too many," said Paul. "Altogether too industrious."
"What I really want to know--Oh...?" With the lungs removed, it couldbe seen that the hump on the back was caused by a great enlargement offour thoracic vertebrae, which swelled into the chest cavity as wellas outward. Wright cut away spinal cartilage. "Damn, I _wish_ Searswas doing this. Well, it's neural tissue, nothing else--a big swellingof the spinal cord." He sliced at the ugly head, but the hermorrhagefrom a .30-caliber bullet confused the picture. "The brain looks toosimple. Could that lump in the cord be the hind brain? I hereby leavethe theories to Sears. But, son, you might slit the stomach and seewhat the old lady had for breakfast."
Paul's clumsy cut on the slippery stomach bag made it plain what theomasha had eaten--among other things, an almost completeseven-fingered hand. Dorothy choked and walked away, saying, "I amgoing to be--"
"Cheer up." Paul held her forehead. "Never mind the clean floor--"
"Go away. I mean stay very close. Sorry to be so physiological. Me amedic student! Even blood bothers me."
"Never mind, sugar--"
"Sugar yourself, and wash your paws. We smell."
Mijok was muttering in alarm. Wright had abandoned the dissection andgone out in the meadow, cautious but swift, to the spot whereyesterday they had found the pygmy soldiers. He took up a small skulland arm bone, pathetically clean--perhaps there were insect scavengersthat followed after the omasha--and the discarded bow. But instead ofbringing back these relics, Wright held them high over his head,facing westward. Tall and gray in the heavy sun, he stepped twentypaces further toward the region where the pygmies had entered thejungle; then he set the bones down in th
e grass and strode back to theshelter, fingers twitching, lips moving in his old habit of talkinghalf to himself, half to the world. "The omasha," he said, "crackedthe enlarged vertebrae--favorite morsel maybe."
Mijok moaned, blinking and sighing. He stared long at the silent graceof the lifeboat, then at Christopher Wright. He too was talking tohimself. Abruptly, something gave way in him. He was kneeling beforeWright, bending forward, taking Wright's hands and pressing themagainst the gray-white fur of his face and his closed eyes. "Oh, now,"Wright said, "now, friend--"
Paul remarked, "You're elected."
"I will not be a god."
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