Rod and Roy traveled light and fast downstream, taking turns leading and covering. Each carried a few kilos of salt meat but they expected to eat off the land. In addition to the game they now knew of many edible fruits and berries and nuts; the forest was a free cafeteria to those who knew it.
They carried no water since they expected to follow the stream. But they continued to treat the water with respect; in addition to ichthyosaurs that sometimes pulled down a drinking buck there were bloodthirsty little fish that took very small bites- but they traveled in schools and could strip an animal to bones in minutes." Rod carried both Lady Macbeth and Colonel Bowie; Roy Kilroy carried his Occam's Razor and a knife borrowed from Carmen Baxter. Roy had a climbing rope wrapped around his waist. Each had a hand gun strapped to his hip but these were for extremity; one gun had only three charges. But Roy carried Jacqueline Throxton's air pistol, with freshly envenomed darts; they expected it to save hours of hunting, save time for travel. Three days downstream they found a small cave, found living in it a forlorn colony of five girls.
They powwowed, then headed on down as the girls started upstream to find the settlement. The girls had told them of a place farther down where the creek could be crossed. They found it, a wide rocky shallows with natural stepping stones . . . then wasted two days on the far side before crossing back. By the seventh morning they had found no cave other than one the girls had occupied. Rod said to Roy, "Today makes a week. Grant said to be back in two weeks." "That's what the man said. Yes, sir!" "No results." "Nope. None." "We ought to start back." Roy did not answer. Rod said querulously, "Well, what do you think?" Kilroy was lying down, watching the local equivalent of an ant. He seemed in no hurry to do anything else. Finally he answered, "Rod, you are bossing this party. Upstream, downstreamjust tell me." "Oh, go soak your head." "On the other hand, a bush lawyer like Shorty might question Grant's authority to tell us to return at a given time. He might use words like 'free citizen' and 'sovereign autonomy.' Maybe he's got something- this neighborhood looks awfully far 'West of the Pecos.'" "Well. .. we could stretch it a day, at least?. We won't be taking that side trip going back." "Obviously. Now, if I were leading the party- but I'm not." "Cut the double talk! I asked for advice." "Well, I say we are here to find caves, not to keep a schedule." Rod quit frowning. "Up off your belly. Let's go." They headed downstream. The terrain changed from forest valley to canyon country as the stream cut through a plateau. Game became harder to find and they used some of their salt meat. Two days later they came to the first of a series of bluffs carved eons earlier into convolutions, pockets, blank dark eyes. "This looks like it." "Yes," agreed Roy. He looked around.
"It might be even better farther down." "It might be." They went on. In time the stream widened out, there were no more caves, and the canyons gave way to a broad savannah, treeless except along the banks of the river. Rod sniffed. "I smell salt." "You ought to. There's ocean over there somewhere." "I don't think so." They went on. They avoided the high grass, kept always near the trees. The colonists had listed more than a dozen predators large enough to endanger a man, from a leonine creature twice as long as the biggest African lion down to a vicious little scaly thing which was dangerous if cornered. It was generally agreed that the leonine monster was the "stator" they had been warned against, although a minority favored a smaller carnivore which was faster, trickier, and more likely to attack a man. One carnivore was not considered for the honor. It was no larger than a jackrabbit, had an oversize head, a big jaw, front legs larger than hind, and no tail. It was known as "dopy joe" from the silly golliwog expression it had and its clumsy, slow movements when disturbed. It was believed to live by waiting at burrows of field rodents for supper to come out. Its skin cured readily and made a good water bag. Grassy fields such as this savannah often were thick with them. They camped in a grove of trees by the water. Rod said, "Shall I waste a match, or do it the hard way?" "Suit yourself. I'll knock over something for dinner." "Watch yourself. Don't go into the grass. "I'll work the edges. Cautious Kilroy they call me, around the insurance companies. Rod counted his three matches, hoping there would be four, then started making fire by friction. He had just succeeded, delayed by moss that was not as dry as it should have been, when Roy returned and dropped a small carcass.
"The durnedest thing happened." The kill was a dopy joe; Rod looked at it with distaste. "Was that the best you could do? They taste like kerosene." "Wait till I tell you. I wasn't hunting him; he was hunting me." "Don't kid me!" "Truth. I had to kill him to keep him from snapping my ankles. So I brought him in. Rod looked at the small creature. "Never heard the like. Must be insanity in his family." "Probably." Roy started skinning it. The next morning they reached the sea, a glassy body untouched by the tide, unruffled by the wind. It was extremely briny and its shore was crusted with salt They concluded that it was probably a dead sea, not a true ocean. But their attention was not held by the body of water. Stretching away along the shore apparently to the horizon were millions on heaping millions of whitened bones. Rod stared.
"Where did they all come from?" Roy whistled softly. "Search me. But if we could sell them at five pence a metric ton, we'd be millionaires." "Billionaires, you mean. "Let's not be fussy." They walked out along the beach, forgetting to be cautious, held by the amazing sight. There were ancient bones, cracked by sun and sea, new bones with gristle clinging, big bones of the giant antelope the colonists never hunted, tiny bones of little buck no larger than terriers, bones without a number of all sorts. But there were no carcasses.
They inspected the shore for a couple of kilometers, awed by the mystery. When they turned they knew that they were turning back not just to camp but to head home. This was as far as they could go. On the trip out they had not explored the caves. On their way back Rod decided that they should try to pick the best place for the colony, figuring game, water supply, and most importantly, shelter and ease of defense. They were searching a series of arched galleries water-carved in the sandstone cliff. The shelf of the lowest gallery was six or seven meters above the sloping stand of soil below. The canyon dropped rapidly here; Rod could visualize a flume from upstream, bringing running water right to the caves. . . not right away, but when they had time to devise tools and cope with the problems. Someday, someday- but in the meantime here was plenty of room for the colony in a spot which almost defended itself. Not to mention, he added, being in out of the rain. Roy was the better Alpinist; he inched up, flat to the rock, reached the shelf, and threw down his line to Rod- snaked him up quickly. Rod got an arm over the edge, scrambled to his knees, stood up, and gasped, "What the deuce!" "That," said Roy, "is why I kept quiet. I thought you would think I was crazy. "I think we both are." Rod stared around. Filling the depth of the gallery, not seen from below, was a terrace on the terrace of cliff dwellings.
They were not inhabited, nor had they ever been by men. Openings which must have been doors were no higher than a man's knee, not wide enough for shoulders. But it was clear that they were dwellings, not merely formations carved by water. There were series of rooms arranged in half a dozen low stories from floor to ceiling of the gallery. The material was concrete of dried mud, an adobe, used with wood. But there was nothing to suggest what had built them. Roy started to stick his head into an opening; Rod shouted, "Hey! Don't do that!" "Why not? It's abandoned." "You don't know what might be inside. Snakes, maybe." "There are no snakes. Nobody's ever seen one. "No . . . but take it easy." "I wish I had a torch light." "I wish I had eight beautiful dancing girls and a Cadillac copter. Be careful. I don't want to walk back alone." They lunched in the gallery and considered the matter. "Of course they were intelligent," Roy declared. "We may find them elsewhere. Maybe really civilized now- these look like ancient ruins." "Not necessarily intelligent," Rod argued. "Bees make more complicated homes." "Bees don't combine mud and wood the way these people did. Look at that lintel." "Birds do. I'll concede that they were bird-brained, no more. "Rod, you won't look at the evidence." "Where are their artifacts? Show me one ash tray marked 'Made in Jersey City.'" "I might find some if you weren't so jumpy." "All in time. Anyhow, the fact that they found it safe shows that we can live here." "Maybe. What killed them? Or why did they go away?" They searched two galleries after lunch, found more dwellings.
The dwellers had apparently formed a very large community. The fourth gallery they explored was almost empty, containing a beginning of a hive in one corner. Rod looked it over. "We can use this. If may not be the best, but we can move the gang in and then find the best at our leisure." "We're heading back?" "Uh, in the morning. This is a good place to sleep and tomorrow we'll travel from 'can' to 'can't'- I wonder what's up there?" Rod was looking at a secondary shelf inside the main arch. Roy eyed it. "Ill let you know in a moment." "Don't bother. It's almost straight up. We'll build ladders for spots like that." "My mother was a human fly, my father was a mountain goat. Watch me. The shelf was not much higher than his head. Roy had a hand over when a piece of rock crumbled away. He did not fall far. Rod ran to him. "You all right, boy?" Roy grunted, "I guess so," then started to get up. He yelped. "What's the matter?" "My right leg. I think. . . ow! I think it's broken." Rod examined the break, then went down to cut splints. With a piece of the line Roy carried, used economically, for he needed most of it as a ladder, he bound the leg, padding it with leaves. It was a simple break of the tibia, with no danger of infection. They argued the whole time. "Of course you will," Roy was saying. "Leave me a fresh kill and what salt meat there is. You can figure some way to leave the water." "Come back and find your chawed bones!" "Not at all. Nothing can get at me. If you hustle, you can make it in three days." "Four, or five more likely.
Six days to lead a party back. Then you want to go back on a stretcher? How would you like to be helpless when a stator jumps us?" "But I wouldn't go back. The gang would be moving down here." "Suppose they do? Eleven days, more likely twelve- Roy, you didn't just bang your shin; you banged your head, too." The stay in the gallery, while Roy's leg repaired, was not difficult nor dangerous; it was merely tedious. Rod would have liked to explore all the caves, but the first time he was away longer than Roy thought necessary to make a kill Rod returned to find his patient almost hysterical. He had let his imagination run away, visioning Rod as dead and thinking about his own death, helpless, while he starved or died of thirst. After that Rod left him only to gather food and water. The gallery was safe from all dangers; no watch was necessary, the fire was needed only for cooking. The weather was getting warmer and the daily rains dropped off.
They discussed everything from girls to what the colony needed, what could have caused the disaster that had stranded them, what they would have to eat if they could have what they wanted, and back to girls again. They did not discuss the possibility of rescue; they took it for granted that they were there to stay. They slept much of the time and often did nothing, in animal-like torpor. Roy wanted to start back as soon as Rod removed the splints, but it took him only seconds to discover that he no longer knew how to walk. He exercised for days, then grew sulky when Rod still insisted that he was not able to travel; the accumulated irritations of invalidism spewed out in the only quarrel they had on the trip. Rod grew as angry as he was, threw Roy's climbing rope at him, and shouted, "Go ahead! See how far you get on that gimp leg!" Five minutes later Rod was arranging a sling, half dragging Roy, white and trembling and thoroughly subdued, back up onto the shelf. Thereafter they spent ten days getting Roy's muscles into shape, then started back.
Shorty Dumont was the first one they ran into as they approached the settlement. His jaw dropped and he looked scared, then he ran to greet them, ran back to alert those in camp. "Hey, everybody! They're back!" Caroline heard the shout, outdistanced the others in great flying leaps, kissed and hugged them both. "Hi, Carol," Rod said. "What are you bawling about?" "Oh, Roddie, you bad, bad boy!" 12 "It Won't Work, Rod" In the midst of jubilation Rod had time to notice many changes.
There were more than a dozen new buildings, including two long shedlike affairs of bamboo and mud. One new hut was of sunbaked brick; it had windows. Where the cooking fire had been was a barbecue pit and by it a Dutch oven. Near it a stream of water spilled out of the bamboo pipe, splashed through a rawhide net, fell into a rock bowl, and was led away to the creek . . . he hardly knew whether to be pleased or irked at this anticipation of his own notion. He caught impressions piecemeal, as their triumphal entry was interrupted by hugs, kisses; and bone-jarring slaps on the back, combined with questions piled on questions. "No, no trouble except that Roy got mad and busted his leg . . . yeah, sure, we found what we went after; wait till you see . . . no . . . yes . . . Jackie! . . . Hi, Bob!- it's good to see you, too, boy! Where's Carmen. . . Hi, Grant!" Cowper was grinning widely, white teeth splitting his beard. Rod noticed with great surprise that the man looked old- why, shucks, Grant wasn't more than twenty-two, twenty-three at the most. Where did he pick up those lines? "Rod, old boy! I don't know whether to have you two thrown in the hoosegow or decorate your brows with laurel."
"We got held up." "So it seems. Well, there is more rejoicing for the strayed lamb than for the ninety and nine. Come on up to the city hall." "The what?" Cowper looked sheepish. "They call it that, so I do. Better than 'Number Ten, Downing Street' which it started off with. It's just the hut where I sleep- it doesn't belong to me," he added. "When they elect somebody else, I'll sleep in bachelor hall." Grant led them toward a little building apart from the others and facing the cooking area. The wall was gone. Rod suddenly realized what looked strange about the upstream end of the settlement; the wall was gone completely and in its place was a thornbush barricade. He opened his mouth to make a savage comment- then realized that it really did not matter.
Why kick up a row when the colony would be moving to the canyon of the Dwellers? They would never need walls again; they would be up high at night, with their ladders pulled up after them. He picked another subject. "Grant, how in the world did you guys get the inner partitions out of those bamboo pipes?" "Eh? Nothing to it. You tie a knife with rawhide to a thinner bamboo pole, then reach in and whittle. All it takes is patience. Waxie worked it out. But you haven't seen anything yet. We're going to have iron. "Huh?" "We've got ore; now we are experimenting. But I do wish we could locate a seam of coal. Say, you didn't spot any, did you?" Dinner was a feast, a luau, a celebration to make the weddings look pale. Rod was given a real plate to eat on- unglazed, lopsided, ungraceful, but a plate. As he took out Colonel Bowie, Margery Chung Kinksi put a wooden spoon in his hand. "We don't have enough to go around, but the guests of honor rate them tonight." Rod looked at it curiously. It felt odd in his hand. Dinner consisted of boiled greens, some root vegetables new to him, and a properly baked haunch served in thin slices. Roy and Rod were served little unleavened cakes like tortillas. No one else had them, but Rod decided that it was polite not to comment on that. Instead, he made a fuss over eating bread again. Margery dimpled. "We'll have plenty of bread someday. Maybe next year.
There were tart little fruits for dessert, plus a bland, tasteless sort which resembled a dwarf banana with seeds. Rod ate too much. Grant called them to order and announced that he was going to ask the travelers to tell what they had experienced. "Let them get it all told- then they won't have to tell it seventy times over. Come on, Rod. Let's see your ugly face." "Aw, let Roy. He talks better than I do." "Take turns. When your voice wears out, Roy can take over. Between them they told it all, interrupting and supplementing each other. The colonists were awed by the beach of a billion bones, still more interested in the ruins of the Dwellers. "Rod and I are still arguing," Roy told them. "I say that it was civilization. He says that it could be just instinct. He's crazy with the heat; the Dwellers were people. Not humans, of course, but people."
"Then where are they now?" Roy shrugged. "Where are the Selenites, Dora? What became of the Mithrans?" "Roy is a romanticist," Rod objected. "But you'll be able to form your own opinions when we get there." "That's right, Rod," Roy agreed. "That covers everything," Rod went on.
"The rest was just waiting while Roy's leg healed. But it brings up the main subject. How quickly can we move? Grant, is there any reason not to start at once? Shouldn't we break camp tomorrow and start trekking? I've been studying it- how to make the move, I mean- and I would say to send out an advance party at daybreak. Roy or I can lead it. We go downstream an easy day's journey, pick a spot, make a kill, and have fire and food ready when the rest arrive. We do it again the next day. I think we can be safe and snug in the caves in five days." "Dibs on the advance party!" "Me, too!" There were other shouts but Rod could not help but realize that the response was not what he had expected. Jimmy did not volunteer and Caroline merely looked thoughtful. The Baxters he could not see; they were in shadow. He turned to Cowper. "Well, Grant? Do you have a better idea?" "Rod," Grant said slowly, "your plan is okay . . . but you've missed a point." "Why do you assume that we are going to move?" "Huh? Why, that's what we were sent for! To find a better place to live. We found it- you could hold those caves against an army. What's the hitch? Of course, we move!" Cowper examined his nails.
"Rod, don't get sore. I don't see it and I doubt if other people do. I'm not saying the spot you and Roy found is not good. It may be better than here- the way this place used to be. But we are doing all right here- and we've got a lot of time and effort invested. Why move?" "Why, I told you. The caves are safe, completely safe. This spot is exposed . . . it's dangerous." "Maybe. Rod, in the whole time we've been here, nobody has been hurt inside camp. We'll put it to a vote, but you can't expect us to abandon our houses and everything we have worked for to avoid a danger that may be imaginary." "Imaginary? Do you think that a stobor couldn't jump that crummy barricade?" Rod demanded, pointing. "I think a stobor would get a chest full of pointed stakes if he tried it," Grant answered soberly. "That crummy barricade' is a highly efficient defense. Take a better look in the morning." "Where we were you wouldn't need it. You wouldn't need a night watch. Shucks, you wouldn't need houses.
Those caves are better than the best house here!" "Probably. But, Rod, you haven't seen all we've done, how much we would have to abandon. Let's look it over in the daylight, fellow, and then talk." "Well . . . no, Grant, there is only one issue: the caves are safe; this place isn't. I call for a vote." "Easy now. This isn't a town meeting. It's a party in your honor. Let's not spoil it." "Well . . . I'm sorry. But we're all here; let's vote." "No." Cowper stood up. "There will be a town meeting on Friday as usual. Goodnight, Rod. Goodnight, Roy. We're awfully glad you're back. Goodnight all." The party gradually fell apart. Only a few of the younger boys seemed to want to discuss the proposed move. Bob Baxter came over, put a hand on Rod and said, "See you in the morning, Rod. Bless you." He left before Rod could get away from a boy who was talking to him. Jimmy Thruxton stayed, as did Caroline. When he got the chance Rod said, Jimmy? Where do you stand?" "Me? You know me, pal. Look, I sent Jackie to bed; she wasn't feeling well. But she told me to tell you that we were back of you a hundred percent, always." "Thanks. I feel better." "See you in the morning? I want to check on Jackie."
"Sure. Sleep tight." He was finally left with Caroline. "Roddie? Want to inspect the guard with me? You'll do it after tonight, but we figured you could use a night with no worries. "Wait a minute. Carol. .. you've been acting funny." "Me? Why, Roddie!" "Well, maybe not.
What do you think of the move? I didn't hear you pitching in." She looked away. "Roddie," she said, "if it was just me, I'd say start tomorrow. I'd be at the advance party." "Good! What's got into these people? Grant has them buffaloed but I can't see why." He scratched his head. "I'm tempted to make up my own party- you, me, Jimmy and Jack, the Baxters, Roy, the few who were rarin' to go tonight, and anybody else with sense enough to pound sand." She sighed. "It won't work, Roddie." "Huh? Why not?" "I'll go.
Some of the youngsters would go for the fun of it. Jimmy and Jack would go if you insisted. . . but they would beg off if you made it easy for them. The Baxters should not and I doubt if Bob would consent. Carmen isn't really up to such a trip." 13 Unkillable The matter never came to a vote. Long before Friday Rod knew how a vote would go- about fifty against him, less than half that for him, with his friends voting with him through loyalty rather than conviction or possibly against him in a showdown. He made an appeal in private to Cowper. "Grant, you've got me licked. Even Roy is sticking with you now. But you could swing them around." "I doubt it. What you don't see, Rod is that we have taken root. You may have found a better place . . . but it's too late to change. After all, you picked this spot." "Not exactly, it . . . well, it just sorts of happened." "Lots of things in life just sort of happening. You make the best of them." "That's what I'm trying to do! Grant, admitted that the move is hard; we could manage it. Set up way stations with easy jumps, send our biggest huskies back for what we don't want to abandon. Shucks, we could move a person on a litter if we had to- using enough guards." "If the town votes it, I'll be for it. But I won't try to argue them into it. Look, Rod, you've got this fixed idea that this spot is dangerously exposed. The facts don't support you. On the other hand, see what we have. Running water from upstream, waste disposal downstream, quarters comfortable and adequate for the climate.
Salt- do you have salt there?" "We didn't look for it but it would be easy to bring it from the seashore." "We've got it closer here. We've got prospects of metal. You haven't seen that ore outcropping yet, have you? We're better equipped every day; our standard of living is going up. We have a colony nobody needs to be ashamed of and we did it with bare hands; we were never meant to be a colony. Why throw up what we have gained to squat in caves like savages?" Rod sighed. "Grant, this bank may be flooded in the rainy season- aside from its poor protection now." "It doesn't look it to me, but if so, we'll see it in time. Right now we are going into the dry season. So let's talk it over a few months from now. Rod gave up. He refused to resume as "City Manager" nor would Caroline keep it when Rod turned it down.
Bill Kennedy was appointed and Rod went to work under Cliff as a hunter, slept in the big shed upstream with the bachelors, and took his turn at night watch. The watch had been reduced to one man, whose duty was simply to tend fires. There was talk of cutting out the night fires, as fuel was no longer easy to find nearby and many seemed satisfied that the thorn barrier was enough. Rod kept his mouth shut and stayed alert at night. The game continued to be plentiful but became skittish. Buck did not come out of cover the way they had in rainy weather; it was necessary to search and drive them out. Carnivores seemed to have become scarcer. But the first real indication of peculiar seasonal habits of native fauna came from a very minor carnivore. Mick Mahmud returned to camp with a badly chewed foot; Bob Baxter patched him up and asked about it. "You wouldn't believe it." "Try me." "Well, it was just a dopy joe. I paid no attention to it, of course. Next thing I knew I was flat on my back and trying to shake it loose. He did all that to me before I got a knife into him. Then I had to cut his jaws loose." "Lucky you didn't bleed to death." When Rod heard Mick's story, he told Roy. Having had one experience with a dopy joe turned aggressive, Roy took it seriously and had Cliff warn all hands to watch out; they seemed to have turned nasty. Three days later the migration of animals started.
At first, it was just drifting that appeared aimless except that it was always downstream. Animals had long since ceased to use the watering-place above the settlement and buck rarely appeared in the little valley; now they began drifting into it, would find themselves baffled by the thorn fence, and would scramble out. Nor was it confined to antelope types; wingless birds with great "false faces," rodents, rooters, types nameless to humans, all joined the migration. One of the monstrous leonine predators they called stator approached the barricade in broad daylight, looked at it, lashed his tail, then clawed his way up the bluff, and headed downstream again. Cliff called off his hunting parties; there was no need to hunt when game walked into camp. Rod found himself more edgy than usual that night as it grew dark. He left his seat near the barbecue pit and went over to Jimmy and Jacqueline. "What's the matter with this place? It's spooky." Jimmy twitched his shoulders. "I feel it. Maybe it's the funny way the animals are acting. Say, did you hear they killed a joe inside the camp?" "I know what it is," Jacqueline said suddenly. "No 'Grand Opera.'" "Grand Opera" was Jimmy's name for the creatures with the awful noises, the ones which had turned Rod's first night into a siege of terror.
They serenaded every evening for the first hour of darkness. Rod's mind had long since blanked them out, heeded them no more than chorusing cicadas. He had not consciously heard them for weeks. Now they failed to wail on time; it upset him. He grinned sheepishly.
"That's it, Jack. Funny how you get used to a thing. Do you suppose they are on strike?" "More likely a death in the family," Jimmy answered. "They'll be back in voice tomorrow." Rod had trouble getting to sleep. When the night watch gave an alarm he was up and out of bachelors' barracks at once, Colonel Bowie in hand. "What's up?" Arthur Nielsen had the watch. "It's all right now," he answered nervously. "A big buffalo buck crashed the fence. And this got through." He indicated the carcass of a dopy joe. "You're bleeding." "Just a nip." Others gathered around. Cowper pushed through, sized the situation, and said, "Waxie, get that cut attended to. Bill . . . where's Bill? Bill, but somebody else on watch.
And let's get that gap fixed as soon as it's light." It was greying in the east. Margery suggested, "We might as well stay up and have breakfast. I'll get the fire going." She left to borrow flame from a watchfire. Rod peered through the damaged barricade. A big buck was down on the far side and seemed to have at least six dopy joes clinging to it. Cliff was there and said quietly, "See a way to get at them?" "Only with a gun." "We can't waste ammo on that." "No." Rod thought about it, then went to a pile of bamboo poles, cut for building. He selected a stout one a head shorter than himself, sat down, and began to bind Lady Macbeth to it with rawhide, forming a crude pike spear. Caroline came over and squatted down. "What are you doing?" "Making a joe-killer." She watched him. "I'm going to make me one," she said suddenly and jumped up. By daylight, the animals were in full flight downstream as if chased by a forest fire. As the creek had shrunk with the dry season a miniature beach, from a meter to a couple of meters wide, had been exposed below the bank on which the town had grown. The thorn kraal had been extended to cover the gap, but the excited animals crushed through this weak point and now streamed along the water past the camp. After a futile effort, no attempt was made to turn them back. They were pouring into the valley; they had to go somewhere, and the route between water and bank made a safety valve. It kept them from shoving the barricade aside by sheer mass.
The smallest animals came through it anyhow, kept going, paid no attention to humans. Rod stayed at the barricade, ate breakfast standing up. He had killed six joes since dawn while Caroline's score was still higher. Others were making knives into spears and joining them. The dopy joes were not coming through in great numbers; most of them continued to chase buck along the lower route past camp. Those who did seep through were speared; meeting them with a knife gave away too much advantage. Cowper and Kennedy, inspecting defenses, stopped by Rod; they looked worried. "Rod," said Grant "how long is this going to last?" "How should I know? When we run out of animals. It looks like- get him, Shorty! It looks as if the joes were driving the others, but I don't think they are. I think they've all gone crazy." "But what would cause that?" demanded Kennedy. "Don't ask me. But I think I know where all those bones on that beach came from. But don't ask why. Why does a chicken cross the road? Why do lemmings do what they do? What makes a plague of locusts? Behind you! Jump!" Kennedy jumped, Rod finished off a joe, and they went on talking. "Better detail somebody to chuck these into the water, Bill, before they stink. Look, Grant, we're okay now, but I know what I would do." "What? Move to your caves? Rod, you were right but it's too late." "No, no! That's spilled milk; forget it. The thing that scares me is these mean little devils. They are no longer dopy; they are fast as can be and nasty . . . and they can slide through the fence. We can handle them now-but how about when it gets dark? We've got to have a solid line of fire inside the fence and along the bank. Fire is one thing they can't go through . . . I hope." "That'll take a lot of wood."
Grant looked through the barricade and frowned. "You bet it will. But it will get us through the night. See here, give me the ax and six men with spears. I'll lead the party." Kennedy shook his head. "It's my job." "No, Bill," Cowper said firmly. "I'll lead it. You stay here and take care of the town." Before the day was over Cowper took two parties out and Bill and Rod led one each. They tried to pick lulls in the spate of animals but Bill's party was caught on the bluff above, where it had been cutting wood and throwing it down past the cave. They were treed for two hours. The little valley had been cleaned out of dead wood months since; it was necessary to go into the forest above to find wood that would burn. Cliff Pawley, hunter-in-chief, led the fifth party in the late afternoon, immediately broke the handle of the little ax. They returned with what they could gather with knives. While they were away one of the giant bucks they called buffalo stampeded off the bluff, fell into camp, broke its neck. Four dopy joes were clinging to it. They were easy to kill as they would not let go. Jimmy and Rod were on pike duty at the barricade. Jimmy glanced back at where a couple of girls were disposing of the carcasses. "Rod," he said thoughtfully, we got it wrong. Those are sober . . . the real stobor."
"Huh?" "The big babies we've been calling that aren't 'October.' These things are what the Deacon warned us against." "Well . . . I don't care what you call them as long as they're dead. On your toes, boy; here they come again." Cowper ordered fires laid just before dark and was studying how to arrange one stretch so as not to endanger the flume when the matter was settled; the structure quivered and water ceased to flow. Upstream something had crashed into it and broken the flimsy pipeline. The town had long since abandoned waterskins. Now they were caught with only a few liters in a pot used by the cooks, but it was a hardship rather than a danger; the urgent need was to get a ring of fire around' them.
There had already been half a dozen casualties- no deaths but bites and slashings, almost all from the little carnivores contemptuously known as dopy joes. The community's pool of antiseptics, depleted by months of use and utterly irreplaceable, had sunk so low that Bob Baxter used it only on major wounds. When fuel had been stretched ready to burn in a long arc inside the barricade and down the bank to where it curved back under the cave, the results of a hard day's work looked small; the stockpile was not much greater than the amount already spread out.
Bill Kennedy looked at it. "It won't last the night, Grant." "It's got to, Bill. Light it." "If we pulled back from the fence and the bank, then cut over to the bluff- what do you think?" Cowper tried to figure what might be saved by the change. "It's not much shorter. Uh, don't light the downstream end unless they start curving back in on us. But let's move; it's getting dark." He hurried to the cooking fire, got a brand, and started setting the chain of fire. Kennedy helped and soon the townsite was surrounded on the exposed sides by the blaze. Cowper chucked his torch into the fire and said, "Bill, better split the men into two watches and get the women up into the cave- they can crowd in somehow." "You'll have trouble getting thirty-odd women in there, Grant." "They can sit up all night. But send them up. Yes, and the wounded men, too." "Can do." Kennedy started passing the word. Caroline came storming up, spear in hand "Grant, what's this nonsense about the girls having to go up to the cave? If you think you're going to cut me out of the fun you had better think again!" Cowper looked at her wearily. "Carol, I haven't time to monkey. Shut your face and do as you are told." Caroline opened her mouth, closed it, and did as she was told. Bob Baxter claimed Cowper's attention; Rod noticed that he looked very upset. "Grant? You ordered all the women up to the cave?" "Yes." "I'm sorry but Carmen can't." "You'll have to carry her. She is the one I had most on my mind when I decided on the move. "But-" Baxter stopped and urged Grant away from the others. He spoke insistently but quietly. Grant shook his head.
"It's not safe, Grant," Baxter went on, raising his voice. "I don't dare risk it. The interval is nineteen minutes now. "Well. . . all right. Leave a couple of women with her. Use Caroline, will you? That'll keep her out of my hair." "Okay." Baxter hurried away. Kennedy took the first watch with a dozen men spread out along the fire line; Rod was on the second watch commanded by Cliff Pawley. He went to the Baxter house to find out how Carmen was doing, was told to beat it by Agnes. He then went to the bachelors' shed and tried to sleep. He was awakened by yells, in time to see one of the leonine monsters at least five meters long go bounding through the camp and disappear downstream. It had jumped the barrier, the stakes behind it, and the fire behind that, all in one leap. Rod called out, "Anybody hurt?" Shorty Dumont answered. "No. It didn't even stop to wave."
Shorty was bleeding from a slash in his left calf; he seemed unaware of it. Rod crawled back inside tried again to sleep. He was awakened again by the building shaking. He hurried out. "What's up?" "That you, Rod? I didn't know anybody was inside. Give me a hand; we're going to burn it." The voice was Baxter's; he was prying at a corner post and cutting rawhide strips that held it. Rod put his spear where it would not be stepped on, resheathed Colonel Bowie, and started to help. The building was bamboo and leaves, with a mud-and-thatch roof; most of it would burn. "How's Carmen?" "Okay. Normal progress. I can do more good here. Besides they don't want me." Baxter brought the corner of the shed down with a crash, gathered a double armful of wreckage, and hurried away. Rod picked up a load and followed him. The reserve woodpile was gone; somebody was tearing the roof off the "city hall" and banging pieces on the ground to shake clay loose.
The walls were sunbaked bricks, but the roof would burn. Rod came closer, saw that it was Cowper who was destroying this symbol of the sovereign community. He worked with the fury of anger. "Let me do that, Grant. Have you had any rest?" "Huh? No." "Better get some. It's going to be a long night. What time is it?" "I don't know. Midnight, maybe." Fire blazed up and Cowper faced it, wiping his face with his hand. "Rod, take charge of the second watch and relieve Bill. Cliff got clawed and I sent him up." "Okay. Burn everything that will burn right?" "Everything but the roof of the Baxter house. But don't use it up too fast; it's got to last till morning." "Got it." Rod hurried to the fire line, found Kennedy. Okay, Bill, I'll take over Grant's orders. Get some sleep. Anything getting through?" 'Not much. And not far." Kennedy's spear was dark with blood in the firelight. "I'm not going to sleep, Rod. Find yourself a spot and help out." Rod shook his head. "You're groggy. Beat it. Grant's orders." "No!" "Well. . . look, take your gang and tear down the old maids' shack. That'll give you a change, at least." "Uh- all right." Kennedy left, almost staggering. There was a lull in the onrush of animals; Rod could see none beyond the barricade. It gave him time to sort out his crew, send away those who had been on duty since sunset, send for stragglers. He delegated Doug Sanders and Mick Mahmud as fire tenders passed the word that no one else was to put fuel on the fires. He returned from his inspection to find Bob Baxter, spear in hand, holding his place at the center of the line. Rod put a hand on his shoulder.
"The medical officer doesn't need to fight. We aren't that bad off." Baxter shrugged. "I've got my kit, what there is left of it. This is where I use it." "Haven't you enough worries?" Baxter grinned wanly. "Better than walking the floor. Rod, they're stirring again. Hadn't we better build up the fires?" "Mmm . . . not if we're going to make it last. I don't think they can come through that." Baxter did not answer, as a joe came through at that instant.
It plowed through the smoldering fire and Baxter speared it. Rod cupped his hands and shouted, "Build up the fires! But go easy. "Behind you, Rod!" Rod jumped and whirled, got the little devil. "Where did that one come from? I didn't see it." Before Bob could answer Caroline came running out of darkness. "Bob! Bob Baxter! ve got to find Bob Baxter!" "Over here!" Rod called. Baxter was hardly able to speak. "Is she- is she?" His face screwed up in anguish. "No, no!" yelled Caroline. "She's all right, she's fine. It's a girl!" Baxter quietly fainted, his spear falling to the ground. Caroline grabbed him and kept him from falling into the fire. He opened his eyes and said, "Sorry. You scared me. You're sure Carmen is all right?" "Right as rain.
The baby, too. About three kilos. Here, give me that sticker- Carmen wants you." Baxter stumbled away and Caroline took his place. She grinned at Rod. "I feel swell! How's business, Roddie? Brisk? I feel like getting me eight or nine of these vermin. Cowper came up a few minutes later. Caroline called out, "Grant, did you hear the good news?" "Yes. I just came from there." He ignored Caroline's presence at the guard line but said to Rod, "We're making a stretcher out of pieces of the flume and they're going to haul Carmen up. Then they'll throw the stretcher down and you can burn it." "Good." "Agnes is taking the baby up. Rod, what's the very most we can crowd into the cave?" "Gee!" Rod glanced up at the shelf.
"They must be spilling off the edge now. "I'm afraid so. But we've just got to pack them in. I want to send up all married men and the youngest boys. The bachelors will hold on here." "I'm a bachelor!" Caroline interrupted. Cowper ignored her. "As soon as Carmen is safe we do it- we can't keep fires going much longer." He turned away, headed up to the cave. Caroline whistled softly. "Roddie, we're going to have fun." "Not my idea of fun. Hold the fort, Carol. I've got to line things up." He moved down the line, telling each one to go or to stay. Jimmy scowled at him. "I won't go, not as long as anybody stays. I couldn't look Jackie in the face." "You'll button your lip and do as Grant says- or I'll give you a mouthful of teeth. Hear me?" "I hear you. I don't like it."
"You don't have to like it, just do it. Seen Jackie? How is she?" "I snuck up a while ago. She's all right, just queasy. But the news about Carmen makes her feel so good she doesn't care." Rod used no age limit to determine who was expendable. With the elimination of married men, wounded, and all women he had little choice; he simply told those whom he considered too young or not too skilled that they were to leave when word was passed. It left him with half a dozen, plus himself, Cowper, and- possibly- Caroline. Trying to persuade Caroline was a task he had postponed. He returned and found Cowper. "Carmen's gone up," Cowper told him.
"You can send the others up now. "Then we can burn the roof of the Baxter house." "I tore it down while they were hoisting her." Cowper looked around. "Carol! Get on up. She set her feet. "I won't!" Rod said softly, "Carol, you heard him. Go up- right now!" She scowled, stuck out her lip, then said, "All right for you, Roddie Walker!"- turned and fled up the path. Rod cupped his hands and shouted, "All right, everybody! All hands up but those I told to stay. Hurry!" About half of those leaving had started up when Agnes called down, "Hey! Take it slow! Somebody will get pushed over the edge if you don't quit shoving." The queue stopped. Jimmy called out, "Everybody exhale. That'll do it." Somebody called back, "Throw Jimmy off. . . that will do it." The line moved again, slowly. In ten minutes they accomplished the sardine-packing problem of fitting nearly seventy people into a space comfortable for not more than a dozen. It could not even be standing room since a man could stand erect only on the outer shelf. The girls were shoved inside, sitting or squatting, jammed so that they hardly had air to breathe. The men farthest out could stand but were in danger of stepping off the edge in the dark, or of being elbowed off. Grant said, "Watch things, Rod, while I have a look." He disappeared up the path, came back in a few minutes. "Crowded as the bottom of a sack," he said. "Here's the plan.
They can scrunch back farther if they have to. It will be uncomfortable for the wounded and Carmen may have to sit up- she's lying down- but it can be done. When the fires die out, we'll shoehorn the rest in. With spears poking out under the overhang at the top of the path we ought to be able to hold out until daylight. Check me?" "Sounds as good as can be managed." "All right. When the time comes, you go up next to last, I go up last." "Unh . . . I'll match you." Cowper answered with surprising vulgarity and added, "I'm boss; I go last. We'll make the rounds and pile anything left on the fires, then gather them all here. You take the bank, I take the fence." It did not take long to put the remnants on the fires, then they gathered around the path and waited- Roy, Kenny, Doug, Dick, Charlie, Howard, and Rod and Grant. Another wave of senseless migration was rolling but the fires held it, bypassed it around by the water. Rod grew stiff and shifted his spear to his left hand.
The dying fires were only glowing coals in spots. He looked for signs of daylight in the east. Howard Goldstein said, "One broke through at the far end." "Hold it, Goldie," Cowper said. "We won't bother it unless it comes here." Rod shifted his spear back to his right hand. The wall of fire was now broken in many places. Not only could joes get through, but worse, it was hard to see them, so little light did the embers give off. Cowper turned to Rod and said, "All right, everybody up. You tally them." Then he shouted, "Bill! Agnes! Make room, I'm sending them up." Rod threw a glance at the fence, then turned. "Okay, Kenny first. Doug next, don't crowd. Goldie and then Dick. Who's left? Roy-" He turned, uneasily aware that something had changed. Grant was no longer behind him.
Rod spotted him bending over a dying fire. "Hey, Grant!" "Be right with you." Cowper selected a stick from the embers, waved it into flame. He hopped over the coals, picked his way through sharpened stakes, reached the thornbush barrier, shoved his torch into it. The dry branches flared up. He moved slowly away, picking his way through the stake trap. "I'll help you!" Rod shouted. "I'll fire the other end." Cowper turned and light from the burning thorn showed his stern, bearded face. "Stay back. Get the others up. That's an order!" f The movement upward had stopped. Rod snarled, "Get on up, you lunkheads! Move!" He jabbed with the butt of his spear, then turned around. Cowper had set the fire in a new place. He straightened up, about to move farther down, suddenly turned and jumped over the dying line of fire.
He stopped and jabbed at something in the darkness . . . then screamed. "Grant!" Rod jumped down, ran toward him. But Grant was down before he reached him, down with a joe worrying each leg and more coming. Rod thrust at one jerked his spear out, and jabbed at the other, trying not to stab Grant. He felt one grab his leg and wondered that it did not hurt. Then it did hurt, terribly, and he realized that he was down and his spear was not in his hand. But his hand found his knife without asking; Colonel Bowie finished off the beast clamped to his ankle. Everything seemed geared to nightmare slowness. Other figures were thrusting leisurely at shapes that hardly crawled. The thornbush, flaming high, gave him light to see and stab a dopy joe creeping toward him. He got it, rolled over, and tried to get up. He woke with daylight in his eyes, tried to move, and discovered that his left leg hurt. He looked down and saw a compress of leaves wrapped with a neat hide bandage. He was in the cave and there were others lying parallel to him. He got to one elbow. "Say, what-" "Sssh!" Sue Kennedy crawled over and knelt by him. "The baby is asleep." "Oh. . ." "I'm on nurse duty. Want anything?" "I guess not. Uh, what did they name her?" "Hope. Hope Roberta Baxter. A pretty name. I'll tell Caroline you are awake." She turned away. Caroline came in, squatted, and looked scornfully at his ankle.
"That'll teach you to have a party and not invite me. "I guess so. Carol, what's the situation?" "Six on the sick list. About twice that many walking wounded. Those not hurt are gathering wood and cutting thorns. We fixed the ax." "Yes, but. . . we're not having to fight them off?" "Didn't Sue tell you? A few bucks walking around as if they were dazed. That's all." "They may start again." "If they do, we'll be ready." "Good." He tried to raise up. "Where's Grant? How bad was he hurt?" She shook her head. "Grant didn't make it, Roddie." "Huh?" "Bob took off both legs at the knee and would have taken off one arm, but he died while he was operating." She made a very final gesture. "In the creek." Rod started to speak, turned his head, and buried his face. Caroline put a hand on him. "Don't take it hard, Roddie. Bob shouldn't have tried to save him. Grant is better off." Rod decided that Carol was right- no frozen limb banks on this planet. But it did not make him feel better. "We didn't appreciate him," he muttered. "Stow it!" Caroline whispered fiercely. "He was a fool." "Huh? Carol, I'm ashamed of you."
He was surprised to see tears rolling down her cheeks. "You know he was a fool, Roddie Walker. Most of us knew. . . but we loved him anyhow. I would 'UV married him, but he never asked me." She wiped at tears. "Have you seen the baby?" "No." Her face lit up. "I'll fetch her. She's beautiful." "Sue said she was asleep." "Well . . . all right. But what I came up for is this: what do you want us to do?" "Huh?" He tried to think. Grant was dead. "Bill was his deputy. Is Bill laid up?" "Didn't Sue tell you?" "Tell me what?" "You're the mayor. We elected you this morning. Bill and Roy and I are just trying to hold things together." Rod felt dizzy. Caroline's face kept drawing back, then swooping in; he wondered if he were going to faint.. "-plenty of wood," she was saying, "and we'll have the kraal built by sundown. We don't need meat; Margery is butchering that big fellow that fell off the bluff and busted his neck. We can't trek out until you and Carmen and the others can walk, so we're trying to get the place back into shape temporarily. Is there anything you want us to do now?" He considered it. "No. Not now. "Okay. You're supposed to rest." She backed out, stood up. "I'll look in later." Rod eased his leg and turned over.
After a while, he quieted and went to sleep. Sue brought broth in a bowl, held his head while he drank, then fetched Hope Baxter and held her for him to see. Rod said the usual inanities, wondering if all new babies looked that way. Then he thought for a long time. Caroline showed up with Roy. "How's it going, Chief?" Roy said. "Ready to bite a rattlesnake." "That's a nasty foot, but it ought to heal. We boiled the leaves and Bob used sulfa." "Feels all right. I don't seem feverish." "Jimmy always said you were too mean to die," added Caroline. "Want anything, Roddie? Or to tell us anything?" "Yes." "What?" "Get me out of here. Help me down the path." Roy said hastily, "Hey, you can't do that. You're not in shape." "Can't I? Either help or get out of my way. And get everybody together. We're going to have a town meeting."
They looked at each other and walked out on him. He had made it to the squeeze at the top when Baxter showed up. "Now, Rod! Get back and lie down." "Out of my way." "Listen, boy, I don't like to get rough with a sick man. But I will if you make me." "Bob. . . how bad is my ankle?" "It's going to be all right . . . if you behave. If you don't- well, have you ever seen gangrene? When it turns black and has that sweetish odor?" "Quit trying to scare me. Is there any reason not to put a line under my arms and lower me?" "Well. . ." They used two lines and a third to keep his injured leg free, with Baxter supervising. They caught him at the bottom and carried him to the cooking space, laid him down. "Thanks," he grunted. "Everybody here who can get here?" "I think so, Roddie. Shall I count?" "Never mind.
I understand you folks elected me cap- I mean 'mayor'- this morning?" "That's right," agreed Kennedy. "Uh, who else was up? How many votes did I get?" "Huh? It was unanimous. Rod sighed. "Thanks. I'm not sure I would have held still for it if I'd been here. I gathered something else. Do I understand that you expect me to take you down to the caves Roy and I found? Caroline said something. . ." Roy looked surprised. "We didn't vote it, Rod, but that was the idea. After last night everybody knows we can't stay here." Rod nodded. "I see. Are you all where I can see you? I've got something to say. I hear you adopted a constitution and things while Roy and I were away. I've never read them, so I don't know whether this is legal or not. But if I'm stuck with the job, I expect to run things. If somebody doesn't like what I do and we're both stubborn enough for a showdown, then you will vote. You back me up, or you turn me down and elect somebody else. Will that work? How about it, Goldie? You were on the law committee, weren't you?" Howard Goldstein frowned. "You don't express it very well, Rod." "Probably not. Well?" "But what you have described is the parliamentary vote-of-confidence.
That's the backbone of our constitution. We did it that way to keep it simple and still democratic. It was Grant's notion." "I'm glad," Rod said soberly. "I'd hate to think that I had torn up Grant's laws after he worked so hard on them. I'll study them, I promise, first chance I get. But about moving to the caveswe'll have a vote of confidence right now." Goldstein smiled. "I can tell you how it will come out. We're convinced." Rod slapped the ground. "You don't understand! If you want to move, move . . . but get somebody else to lead you. Roy can do it. Or Cliff, or Bill. But if you leave it to me, no dirty little beasts, all teeth and no brains, are going to drive us out. We're men.. . and men don't have to be driven out, not by the likes of those. Grant paid for this land- and I say stay here and keep it for him!" 14 Civilization The Honorable Roderick L.
Walker, Mayor of Cowpertown, Chief of State of the sovereign planet GO-7390 1-Il (Lima Catalog), Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces, Chief Justice, and Defender of Freedoms, was taking his ease in front of the Mayor's Palace. He was also scratching and wondering if he should ask somebody to cut his hair again-he suspected lice only this planet did not have lice. His Chief of Government, Miss Caroline Beatrice Mshiyeni, squatted in front of him. "Roddie, I've told them and told them and told them . . . and it does no good. That family makes more filth than everybody else put together. You should have seen it this morning. Garbage in front of their door . . . flies!" "I saw it." "Well, what do I do? If you would let me rough him up a little. But you're too soft" "I guess I am." Rod looked thoughtfully at a slab of slate erected in the village square. It read: To the Memory Of ULYSSES GRANT COWPER, First Mayor - who died for his city The carving was not good; Rod had done it. "Grant told me once," he added, "that government was the art of getting along with people you don't like." "Well, I sure don't like Bruce and Theo!" "Neither do I. But Grant would have figured out a way to keep them in line without getting rough." "You figure it out, I can't. Roddie, you should never have let Bruce come back. That was bad enough. But when he married that little . . . well!" "They were made for each other," Rod answered. "Nobody else would have married either of them." "It's no joke. It's almost- Hope! Quit teasing Granite!"
She bounced up. Miss Hope Roberta Baxter, sixteen months, and Master Grant Roderick Throxton, thirteen months, stopped what they were doing, which was, respectively, slapping and crying. Both were naked and very dirty. It was "clean" dirt; each child had been bathed by Caroline an hour earlier, and both were fat and healthy. Hope turned up a beaming face. "'Ood babee!" she asserted. "I saw you." Caroline upended her, gave her a spat that would not squash a fly, then picked up Grant Throxton. "Give her to me," Rod said. "You're welcome to her," Caroline said. She sat down with the boy in her lap and rocked him. "Poor baby! Show Auntie Carol where it hurts." "You shouldn't talk like that. You'll make a sissy of him." "Look who's talking! Wishy-Washy Walker." Hope threw her arms around Rod, part way, and cooed, "Woddie!" adding a muddy kiss. He returned it. He considered her deplorably spoiled; nevertheless he contributed more than his share of spoiling. "Sure," agreed Carol. "Everybody loves Uncle Roddie. He hands out the medals and Aunt Carol does the dirty work." "Carol, I've been thinking." "Warm day. Don't strain any delicate parts." "About Bruce and Theo. I'll talk to them." "Talk!" "The only real punishment is one we never use- and I hope we never have to. Kicking people out, I mean.
The McGowans do as they please because they don't think we would. But I would love to give them the old heave-ho. . . and if it comes to it, I'll make an issue of it before the town- either kick them out or I quit." "They'd back you. Why, I bet he hasn't taken a bath this week!" "I don't care whether they back me or not. I've ridden out seven confidence votes; someday I'll be lucky and retire. But the problem is to convince Bruce that I am willing to face the issue, for then I won't have to. Nobody is going to chance being turned out in the woods, not when they've got it soft here. But he's got to be convinced." "Uh, maybe if he thought you were carrying a grudge about that slice in the ribs he gave you?" "And maybe I am. But I can't let it be personal, Carol; I'm too stinkin' proud." "Uh . . . Turn it around. Convince him that the town is chompin' at the bit- which isn't far wrong- and you are trying to restrain them." "Um, that's closer. Yes, I think Grant would have gone for that. I'll think it over." "Do that." She stood up. "I'm going to give these children another bath. I declare I don't know where they find so much dirt." She swung away with a child on each hip, heading for the shower sheds. Rod watched her lazily. She was wearing a leather bandeau and a Maori grass skirt, long leaves scraped in a pattern, curled, and dried. It was a style much favored and Caroline wore it around town, although when she treated herself to a day's hunting she wore a leather breechclout such as the men wore. The same leaf fiber could be retted and crushed, combed and spun, but the cloth as yet possessed by the colony was not even enough for baby clothes. Bill Kennedy had whittled a loom for Sue and it worked, but neither well nor fast, and the width of cloth was under a half meter. Still, Rod mused, it progressed, it was civilization. They had come a long way.
The town was stobor-tight now. An adobe wall too high and sheer for any but the giant lions covered the upstream side and the bank, and any lion silly enough to jump it landed on a bed of stakes too wide now for even their mighty leaps-the awning under which Rod lolled was the hide of one that had made that mistake. The wall was pierced by October traps, narrow tunnels just big enough for the vicious little beasts and which gave into deep pits, where they could chew on each other like Kilkenny cats- which they did. It might have been easier to divert them around the town, but Rod wanted to kill them; he would not be content until their planet was rid of those vermin. In the meantime the town was safe. October continued to deserve the nickname "dopy joe" except during the dry season and then they did not become dangerous until the annual berserk migration- the last of which had passed without loss of blood; the colony's defenses worked, now that they understood what to defend against. Rod had required mothers and children to sit out the stampede in the cave; the rest sat up two nights and stayed on guard. . . but no blade was wet. Rod thought sleepily that the next thing they needed was paper; Grant had been right. . . even a village was hard to run without writing paper. Besides, they must avoid losing the habit of writing. He wanted to follow up Grant's notion of recording every bit of knowledge the gang possessed.
Take logarithms- logarithms might not be used for generations, but when it came time to log a couple of rhythms, then. . . he went to sleep. "You busy, Chief?" Rod looked up at Arthur Nielsen. "Just sleeping a practice I heartily recommend on a warm Sabbath afternoon. What's up, Art? Are Shorty and Doug pushing the bellows alone?" "No. A confounded plug came out and we lost our fire. The furnace is ruined." Nielsen sat down wearily. He was hot, very red in the face, and looked discouraged. He had a bad burn on a forearm but did not seem to know it. "Rod, what are we doing wrong? Riddle me that." "Talk to one of the brains. If you didn't know more about it than I do, we'd swap jobs." "I wasn't really asking. I know two things that are wrong.
We can't build a big enough installation and we don't have coal. Rod, we've got to have coal; for cast iron or steel we need coal. Charcoal won't do for anything but spongy wrought iron." "What do you expect to accomplish overnight, Art? Miracles? You are years ahead of what anybody could ask. You've turned out metal, whether it's wrought iron or uranium. Since you made that spit for the barbecue pit, Margery thinks you are a genius." "Yes, yes, we've made iron-but it ought to be lots better and more of it. This ore is wonderful . . . the real Lake Superior hematite. Nobody's seen such ore in commercial quantity on Terra in centuries. You ought to be able to breathe on it and make steel. And I could, too, if I had coal. We've got clay, we've got limestone, we've got this lovely ore- but I can't get a hot enough fire." Rod was not fretted; the colony was getting metal as fast as needed. But Waxie was upset. "Want to knock off and search for coal?" "Uh . . . no, I don't.
I want to rebuild that furnace." Nielsen gave a bitter description of the furnace's origin, habits, and destination. "Who knows most about geology?" "Uh, I suppose I do." "Who knows next most?" "Why, Doug I guess. "Let's send him out with a couple of boys to find coal. You can have Mick in his place on the bellows- no, wait a minute. How about Bruce?" "Bruce? He won't work." "Work him. If you work him so hard he runs away and forgets to come back, we won't miss him. Take him, Art, as a favor to me. "Well . . . . okay, if you say so. "Good. You get one bonus out of losing your batch. You won't miss the dance tonight. Art, you shouldn't start a melt so late in the week; you need your day of rest . . . and so do Shorty and Doug." "I know. But when it's ready to go I want to fire it off. Working the way we do is discouraging; before you can make anything you have to make the thing that makes it- and usually you have to make something else to make that. Futile!" "You don't know what 'futile' means. Ask our 'Department of Agriculture.' Did you take a look at the farm before you came over the wall?" "Well, we walked through it." "Better not let Cliff catch you, or he'll scalp you. I might hold you for him." "Humph! A lot of silly grass! Thousands of hectares around just like it." "That's right. Some grass and a few rows of weeds.
The pity is that Cliff will never live to see it anything else. Nor little Cliff. Nevertheless, our great grandchildren will eat white bread, Art. But you yourself will live to build precision machinery- you know it can be done, which, as Bob Baxter says, is two-thirds of the battle. Cliff can't live long enough to eat a slice of light, tasty bread. It doesn't stop him." "You should have been a preacher, Rod."
Art stood up and sniffed himself. "I'd better get a bath, or the girls won't dance with me." "I was just quoting. You've heard it before. Save me some soap." Caroline hit two bars of Arkansas Traveler, Jimmy slapped his drum, and Roy called, "Square 'em up, folks!" He waited, then started in high, nasal tones: "Honor y'r partners! "Honor y'r corners! "Now all jump up and when y' come down-" Rod was not dancing; the alternate set would be his turn. The colony formed eight squares, too many for a caller, a mouth organ, and a primitive drum all unassisted by amplifying equipment. So half of them babysat and gossiped while the other half danced. The caller and the orchestra were relieved at each intermission to dance the other sets.
Most of them had not known how to square-dance. Agnes Pulvermacher had put it over almost single-handed, in the face of kidding and resistance- training callers, training dancers, humming tunes to Caroline, cajoling Jimmy to carve and shrink a jungle drum. Now she had nine out of ten dancing. Rod had not appreciated it at first (he was not familiar with the history of the Mormon pioneers) and had regarded it as a nuisance that interfered with work. Then he saw the colony, which had experienced a bad letdown after the loss in one night of all they had built, an apathy he had not been able to lift- he saw this same colony begin to smile and joke and work hard simply from being exposed to music and dancing. He decided to encourage it. He had trouble keeping time and could not carry a tune, but the bug caught him, too; he danced not well but with great enthusiasm.
The village eventually limited dances to Sabbath nights, weddings, and holidays- and made them "formal" . . . which meant that women wore grass skirts. Leather shorts, breechclouts, and slacks (those not long since cut up for rags) were not acceptable. Sue talked about making a real square dance dress as soon as she got far enough ahead in her weaving, and a cowboy shirt for her husband . . . but the needs of the colony made this a distant dream. Music stopped, principals changed, Caroline tossed her mouth organ to Shorty, and came over. "Come on, Roddie, let's kick some dust." "I asked Sue," he said hastily and truthfully.
He was careful not to ask the same girl twice, never to pay marked attention to any female; he had promised himself long ago that the day he decided to marry should be the day he resigned and he was not finding it hard to stay married to his job. He liked to dance with Caroline; she was a popular partner- except for a tendency to swing her partner instead of letting him swing her- but he was careful not to spend much social time with her because she was his right hand, his alter ego. Rod went over and offered his arm to Sue. He did not think about it; the stylized amenities of civilization were returning and the formal politenesses of the dance made them seem natural. He led her out and assisted in making a botch of Texas Star. Later, tired, happy, and convinced that the others in his square had made the mistakes and he had straightened them out, Rod returned Sue to Bill, bowed and thanked him, and went back to the place that was always left for him. Margery and her assistants were passing out little brown somethings on wooden skewers. He accepted one. "Smells good, Marge. What are they?" "Mock Nile birds. Smoked baby-buck bacon wrapped around hamburger. Salt and native sage, pan broiled. You'd better like it; it took us hours." "Mmmm! I do! How about another?" "Wait and see. Greedy." "But I need more. I work hardest. I have to keep up my strength." "That was work I saw you doing this afternoon?" She handed him another. "I was planning. The old brain was buzzing away. "I heard the buzzing. Pretty loud, when you lie on your back." He snagged a third as she turned away, looked up to catch Jacqueline smiling; he winked and grinned. "Happy, Rod?" "Yes indeedy. How about you, Jackie?" "I've never been happier," she said seriously. Her husband put an arm around her. "See what the love of a good man can do, Rod?" Jimmy said. "When I found this poor child she was beaten, bedraggled, doing your cooking and afraid to admit her name. Now look at her!- fat and sassy." "I'm not that fat!" "Pleasingly plump." Rod glanced up at the cave. "Jackie, remember the night I showed up?" "I'm not likely to forget." "And the silly notion I had that this was Africa? Tell me- if you had it to do over, would you rather I had been right?" "I never thought about it. I knew it was not." "Yes, but 'if'? You would have been home long ago." Her hand took her husband's. "I would not have met James." "Oh, yes, you would. You had already met me. You could not have avoided it- my best friend." "Possibly. But I would not change it. I have no yearning to go 'home,' Rod. This is home." "Me neither," asserted Jimmy. "You. know what? This colony gets a little bigger- and it's getting bigger fast- Goldie and I are going to open a law office. We won't have any competition and can pick our clients. He'll handle the criminal end, I'll specialize in divorce, and we'll collaborate on corporate skulduggery. We'll make millions.
I'll drive a big limousine drawn by eight spanking bucks, smoking a big cigar and sneering at the peasants." He called out, "Right, Goldie?" "Precisely, colleague. I'm making us a shingle: 'Goldstein & Thruxton-Get bailed, not jailed!'" "Keerect. But make that: 'Thruxton & Goldstein.'" "I'm senior. I've got two more years of law." "A quibble. Rod, are you going to let this Teller U. character insult an old Patrick Henry man?" "Probably. Jimmy, I don't see how you are going to work this. I don't think we have a divorce law. Let's ask Caroline." "A trifle. You perform the marriages, Rod; I'll take care of the divorces." "Ask Caroline what?" asked Caroline. "Do we have a divorce law?" "Huh? We don't even have a getting-married law." "Unnecessary," explained Goldstein. "Indigenous in the culture. Besides, we ran out of paper. "Correct, Counselor," agreed on Jimmy. "Why ask?" Caroline demanded.
"Nobody is thinking about divorce or I would know before they would." "We weren't talking about that," Rod explained. "Jackie said that she had no wish to go back to Terra and Jimmy was elaborating. Uselessly, as usual." Caroline stared. "Why would anybody want to go back?" "Sure," agreed Jimmy. "This is the place. No income tax. No traffic, no crowds, no commercials, no telephones. Seriously, Rod, everyone here was aiming for the Outlands or we wouldn't have been taking a survival test. So what difference does it make? Except that we've got everything sooner." He squeezed his wife's hand.
"I was fooling about that big cigar; I'm rich now, boy, rich!" Agnes and Curt had drawn into the circle, listening. Agnes nodded and said, "For once you aren't joking, Jimmy. The first months we were here I cried myself to sleep every night, wondering if they would ever find us. Now I know they never will- and I don't care! I wouldn't go back if I could; the only thing I miss is lipstick." Her husband's laugh boomed out. "There you have the truth, Rod. The fleshpots of Egypt . . . put a cosmetics counter across this creek and every woman here will walk on water." "That's not fair, Curt! Anyhow, you promised to make lipstick."
"Give me time." Bob Baxter came up and sat down by Rod. "Missed you at the meeting this morning, Rod." "Tied up. I'll make it next week." "Good." Bob, being of a sect which did not require ordination, had made himself chaplain as Christian, Jew, Monist, or Moslem felt at ease; his meetings were well attended. "Bob, would you go back?" "Go where Caroline?" "Back to Terra." "Yes," Jimmy looked horrified. "Boil me for breakfast! Why?" "Oh, I'd want to come back! But I need to graduate from medical school."
He smiled shyly. "I may be the best surgeon in the neighborhood, but that isn't saying much." "Well. . ." admitted Jimmy, "I see your point. But you already suit us. Eh, Jackie?" "Yes, Jimmy." "It's my only regret," Bob went on. "I've lost ones I should have saved. But it's a hypothetical question. 'Here we rest.'" The question spread. Jimmy's attitude was overwhelmingly popular, even though Bob's motives were respected. Rod said goodnight; he heard them still batting it around after he had gone to bed; it caused him to discuss it with himself. He had decided long ago that they would never be in touch with Earth; he had not thought of it for how long?- over a year. At first, it had been mental hygiene, protection of his morale.
Later it was logic: a delay in recall of a week might be a power failure, a few weeks could be a technical difficulty- but months on months was a cosmic disaster; each day added a cipher to the infinitesimal probability that they would ever be in touch again.
He was now able to ask himself: was this what he wanted? Jackie was right; this was home. Then he admitted that he liked being a big frog in a small puddle, he loved his job. He was not meant to be a scientist, nor a scholar, he had never wanted to be a businessman- but what he was doing suited him . . . and he seemed to do it well enough to get by. "'Here we rest!'" He went to sleep in a warm glow. Cliff wanted help with the experimental crops. Rod did not take it too seriously; Cliff always wanted something; given his head, he would have everybody working dawn to dark on his farm. But it was well to find out what he wanted- Rod did not underrate the importance of domesticating plants; that was basic for all colonies and triply so for them. It was simply that he did not know much about it. Cliff stuck his head into the mayor's hut. "Ready?" "Sure." Rod got his spear. It was no longer improvised but bore a point patiently sharpened from steel salvaged from Braun's Thunderbolt. Rod had tried wrought iron but could not get it to hold an edge.
"Let's pick up a couple of boys and get a few stators." "Okay" Rod looked around. Jimmy was at his potter's wheel, kicking the treadle and shaping clay with his thumb. Jim! Quit that and grab your pike. We're going to have some fun." Thruxton wiped at sweat. "You've talked me into it." They added Kenny and Mick, then Cliff led them upstream. "I want you to look at the animals." "All right," agreed Rod. "Cliff, I had been meaning to speak to you. If you are going to raise those brutes inside the wall, you'll have to be careful about their droppings. Carol has been muttering." "Rod, I can't do everything! And you can't put them outside, not if you expect them to live." "Sure, sure! Well, we'll get you more help, that's the only- Just a second!" They were about to pass the last hut; Bruce McGowan was stretched in front of it, apparently asleep. Rod did not speak at once;
he was fighting down the rage. He wrestled with himself, aware that the next moment could change his future, damage the entire colony. But his rational self was struggling in a torrent of anger, bitter and self-righteous.
He wanted to do away with this parasite, destroy it. He took a deep breath and tried to keep his mouth from trembling. "Bruce!" he called softly. McGowan opened his eyes. "Huh?" "Isn't Art working his plant today?" "Could be," Bruce admitted. "Well?" "'Well' what? I've had a week and it's not my dish. Get somebody else." Bruce wore his knife, as did each of them; a colonist was more likely to be caught naked than without his knife. It was the all-purpose tool, for cutting leather, preparing food, eating, whittling, building, basket making, and as make-do for a thousand other tools; their wealth came from knives, arrows were now used to hunt- but knives shaped the bows and arrows. But a knife had not been used by one colonist against another since that disastrous day when Bruce's brother had defied Rod.
Over the same issue, Rod recalled; the wheel had turned full circle. But today he would have immediate backing if Bruce reached for his knife. But he knew that this must not be settled by five against one; he alone must make this dog come to heel or his days as leader were numbered. It did not occur to Rod to challenge Bruce to settle it with bare hands. Rod had read many a historical romance in which the hero invited someone to settle it man to man, in a stylized imitation fighting called "boxing." Rod had enjoyed such stories but did not apply them to himself any more than he considered personally the swordplay of The Three Musketeers; nevertheless, he knew what "boxing" meant- they folded their hands and struck certain restricted blows with fists. Usually, no one was hurt. The fighting that Rod was trained in was not simply strenuous athletics. It did not matter whether they were armed; if he and Bruce fought bare hands or otherwise, someone would be killed or badly hurt.
The only dangerous weapon was the man himself. Bruce stared sullenly. "Bruce," Rod said, striving to keep his voice steady, "a long time ago I told you that people worked around here or got out. You and your brother didn't believe me so we had to chuck you out. Then you crawled back with a tale about how Jock had been killed and could you please join up? You were a sorry sight. Remember?" McGowan scowled. "You promised to be a little angel," Rod went on. "People thought I was foolish- and I was. But I thought you might behave." Bruce pulled a blade of grass, bit it. "Bub, you remind me of Jock. He was always throwing his weight around, too. "Bruce, get up and get out of town! I don't care where, but if you are smart, you will shag over and tell Art you've made a mistake- then start pumping that bellows. I'll stop by later. If sweat isn't pouring off you when I arrive . . . then you'll never come back. You'll be banished for life." McGowan looked uncertain.
He glanced past Rod, and Rod wondered what expressions the others wore. But Rod kept his eyes on Bruce. "Get moving. Get to work, or don't come back." Bruce got a sly look. "You can't order me kicked out. It takes a majority vote." Jimmy spoke up. "Aw, quit taking his guff, Rod.
Kick him out now. Rod shook his head. "No. Bruce, if that is your answer, I'll call them together and we'll put you in exile before lunch- and I'll bet my best knife that you won't get three votes to let you stay. Want to bet?" Bruce sat up and looked at the others, sizing his chances. He looked back at Rod. "Runt," he said slowly, you aren't worth a hoot without stooges. . . or a couple of girls to do your fighting." Jimmy whispered, "Watch it, Rod!" Rod licked dry lips, knowing that it was too late for a reason, too late for talk.
He would have to try to take him . . . he was not sure he could. "I'll fight you," he said hoarsely. "Right now!" Cliff said urgently, "Don't, Rod. We'll manage him." "No. Come on, McGowan." Rod added one unforgivable word. McGowan did not move. "Get rid of that joe sticker," Rod said, "Hold my spear, Cliff." Cliff snapped, "Now wait! I'm not going to stand by and watch this. He might get lucky and kill you, Rod." "Get out of the way, Cliff." "No." Cliff hesitated, then added, "Bruce, throw your knife away. Go ahead- or so help me I'll poke a joe- sticker in your belly myself. Give me your knife, Rod." Rod looked at Bruce, then drew Colonel Bowie and handed it to Cliff. Bruce straightened up and flipped his knife at Cliff's feet. Cliff rasped, "I still say not to, Rod. Say the word and we'll take him apart." "Back off. Give us a room. "Well- no bone breakers. You hear me, Bruce? Make a mistake and you'll never make another." "'No bone breakers,'" Rod repeated, and knew dismally that the rule would work against him; Bruce had him on height and reach and weight. "Okay," McGowan agreed. "Just cat clawing.
I am going to show this rube that one McGowan is worth two of him." Cliff sighed. "Back off, everybody. Okay- get going!" Crouched, they sashayed around, not touching. Only the preliminaries could use up much time; the textbook used in most high schools and colleges listed twenty-seven ways to destroy or disable a man hand to hand; none of the methods took as long as three seconds once contact was made.
They chopped at each other, feinting with their hands, too wary to close. Rod was confused by the injunction not to let the fight go to the conclusion. Bruce grinned at him. "What's the matter? Scared? I've been waiting for this, you loudmouthed pimple- now you're going to get it!" He rushed him. Rod gave back, ready to turn Bruce's rush into his undoing. But Bruce did not carry it through; it had been a feint and Rod had reacted too strongly.
Bruce laughed. "Scared Silly, huh? You had better be." Rod realized that he was scared, more scared than he had ever been. The conviction flooded over him that Bruce intended to kill him . . . the agreement about bone breakers meant nothing; this ape meant to finish him. He backed away, more confused than ever. . . knowing that he must forget rules if he was to live through it . . . but knowing, too, that he had to abide by the silly restriction even if it meant the end of him. Panic shook him; he wanted to run. He did not quite do so. From despair itself, he got a cold feeling of nothing to lose and decided to finish it. He exposed his groin to a savage attack. He saw Bruce's foot come up in the expected kick; with fierce joy, he reached in the proper shinobi counter.
He showed the merest of hesitation, knowing that a full twist would break Bruce's ankle. Then he was flying through the air; his hands had never touched Bruce. He had time for the sick realization that Bruce had seen the gambit, countered with another- when he struck the ground and Bruce was on him. * * * * * "Can you move your arm, Rod?" He tried to focus his eyes and saw Bob Baxter's face floating over him. "I licked him?" Baxter did not answer. An angry voice answered, "Cripes, no! He almost chewed you to pieces." Rod stirred and said thickly, "Where is he? I've got to whip him." Baxter said sharply, "Lie still!" Cliff added, "Don't worry, Rod. We fixed him." Baxter insisted, "Shut up. See if you can move your left arm." Rod moved the arm, felt pain shoot through it, jerked, and felt pain everywhere. "It's not broken," Baxter decided. "Maybe a green-stick break. We'll put it in a sling. Can you sit up? I'll help." "I want to stand." He made it with help, stood swaying. Most of the villagers seemed to be there; they moved jerkily. It made him dizzy and he blinked. "Take it easy, boy," he heard Jimmy say. "Bruce pretty near ruined you.
You were crazy to give him the chance." "I'm all right," Rod answered and winced. "Where is he?" "Behind you. Don't worry, we fixed him." "Yes," agreed Cliff. "We worked him over. Who does he think he is? Trying to shove the Mayor around!" He spat angrily. Bruce was face down, features hidden in one arm; he was sobbing. "How bad is he hurt?" Rod asked. "Him?" Jimmy said scornfully. "He's not hurt. I mean, he hurts all right- but he's not hurt. Carol wouldn't let us. Caroline squatted beside Bruce, guarding him. She got up.
"I should have let 'em," she said angrily. "But I knew you would be mad at me if I did." She put hands on her hips. "Roddie Walker, when are you going to get sense enough to yell for me when you're in trouble? These four dopes stood around and let it happen." "Wait a minute, Carol," Cliff protested. "I tried to stop it. We all tried, but-" "But I wouldn't listen," Rod interrupted. "Never mind, Carol, I flubbed it." "If you would listen to me- "Never mind!" Rod went to McGowan, prodded him. "Turn over." Bruce slowly rolled over.
Rod wondered if he himself looked as bad. Bruce's body was dirt and blood and bruises; his face looked as if someone had tried to file the features off. "Stand up. Bruce started to speak, then got painfully to his feet. Rod said, "I told you to report to Art, Bruce. Get over the wall and get moving." McGowan looked startled. "Huh?" "You heard me. I can't waste time playing games. Check-in with Art and get to work. Or keep moving and don't come back. Now move!" Bruce stared, then hobbled toward the wall. Rod turned and said, "Get back to work, folks. The fun is over. Cliff, you were going to show me the animals." "Huh? Look, Rod, it'll keep." "Yes, Rod," Baxter agreed. "I want to put a sling on that arm. Then you should rest." Rod moved his arm gingerly.
"I'll try to get along without it. Come on, Cliff. Just you and me we'll skip the stator hunt." He had trouble concentrating on what Cliff talked about . . . something about gelding a pair of fawns and getting them used to harness. What use was harnessed when they had no wagons? His head ached, his arm hurt and his brain felt fuzzy. What would Grant have done? He had failed . . . but what should he have said, or not said? Some days it wasn't worth it. "-so we've got to. You see, Rod?" "Huh? Sure, Cliff." He made a great effort to recall what Cliff had been saying. "Maybe wooden axles would do. I'll see if Bill thinks he can build a cart" "But besides a cart, we need-" Rod stopped him. "Cliff, if you say so, we'll try it. I think I'll take a shower. Uh, we'll look at the field tomorrow. A shower made him feel better and much cleaner, although the water spilling milk-warm from the flume seemed too hot, then icy cold. He stumbled back to his hut and lay down.
When he woke he found Shorty guarding his door to keep him from being disturbed. It was three days before he felt up to inspecting the farm. Neilsen reported that McGowan was working, although sullenly. Caroline reported that Theo was obeying sanitary regulations and wearing a black eye. Rod was self-conscious about appearing in public, had even considered one restless night the advisability of resigning and letting someone who had not lost face take over the responsibility. But to his surprise, his position seemed firmer than ever. A minority from Teller University, which he had thought of wryly as "loyal opposition," now no longer seemed disposed to be critical. Curt Pulvermacher, their unofficial leader, looked Rod up and offered help. "Bruce is a bad apple, Rod. Don't let him get downwind again. Let me know instead." "Thanks, Curt." "I mean it. It's hard enough to get anywhere around here if we all pull together. We can't have him riding roughshod over us. But don't stick your chin out. We'll teach him." Rod slept well that night. Perhaps he had not handled it as Grant would have, but it had worked out. Cowper-town was safe. Oh, there would be more troubles but the colony would sweat through them. Someday there would be a city here and this would be Cowper Square. Upstream would be the Nielsen Steel Works. There might even be a Walker Avenue. . . He felt up to looking over the farm the next day.
He told Cliff so and gathered the same party, Jimmy, Kent, and Mick. Spears in hand they climbed the stile at the wall and descended the ladder on the far side. Cliff gathered up a handful of dirt, tasted it. "The soil is all right. A little acid, maybe. We won't know until we can run soil chemistry tests. But the structure is good. If you tell that dumb Swede that the next thing he has to make is a plow. . . "Waxie isn't dumb. Give him time. Hell makes you plows and tractors, too." "I'll settle for a hand plow, drawn by a team of buck. Rod, my notion is this. We weed and it's an invitation to the buck to eat the crops. If we built another wall, all around and just as high- " "A wall! Any idea how many man-hours that would take, Cliff?" "That's not the point." Rod looked around the alluvial flat, several times as large as the land enclosed in the city walls. A thorn fence, possibly, but not a wall, not yet . . . Cliff's ambitions were too big. "Look, let's comb the field for October, then send the others back. You and I can figure out afterward what can be done." "All right. But tell them to watch where they put their big feet." Rod spread them in skirmish line with himself in the center. "Keep dressed up," he warned, "and don't let any get past you. Remember, everyone we kill now means six less on S-Day." They moved forward. Kenny made a kill, Jimmy immediately made two more.
His mount was a little pinto, standing patiently by with reins hanging. There was a boot scabbard holding a hunting rifle on the nigh side of the saddle, but the captain carried no guns on his person; instead, he wore two knives, one on each side. A siren sounded and a speaker above the Salvation Army booth uttered: "Captain Walker, ready with gate four." Rod waved at the control booth and shouted, "Call off!" then turned back to Jim and Jacqueline. "Tell Carol I'm sorry she couldn't get leave. I'll be seeing you." "Might be sooner than you think," asserted Jim. "My firm is going to bid this contract." "Your firm? Where do you get that noise? Have they made him a partner, Jackie?" "No," she answered serenely, "but I'm sure they will as soon as he is admitted to the Outlands bar. Kiss Uncle Rod good-by, Grant." "No," the youngster answered firmly. "Just like his father," Jimmy said proudly. "Kisses women only." The count was running back down; Rod heard it and swung into the saddle. "Take it easy, kids."
The count passed him, finished with a shouted, "ONE!" "Reins up! Reeeiins UP!" He waited with arm raised and glanced through the fully-dilated gate past rolling prairie at snow-touched peaks beyond. His nostrils widened. The control light turned green. He brought his arm down hard and shouted, "Roll 'em! Ho!" as he squeezed and released the little horse with his knees. The pinto sprang forward, cut in front of the lead wagon, and Captain Walker headed out on his long road
The stator hardly tried to escape, being in the "dopy joe" phase of their cycle. Rod paused to spear one and looked up to speak to the man on his right. But there was no one there. "Hold it! Where's Mick?" "Huh? Why he was right here a second ago." Rod looked back. Aside from a shimmer over the hot field, there was nothing where Mick should have been. Something must have sneaked up in the grass, pulled him down- "Watch it, everybody! Something's wrong. Close in . . . and keep your eyes peeled." He turned back, moved diagonally toward where Mick had disappeared. Suddenly two figures appeared in front of his eyes- Mick and a stranger. A stranger in coveralls and shoes. . . The man looked around, called over his shoulder, "Okay, Jake! Put her on automatic and clamp it." He glanced toward Rod but did not seem to see him, walked toward him, and disappeared.
With heart-pounding Rod began to run. He turned and found himself facing into an open gate. . . and down a long, closed corridor. The man in the coveralls stepped into the frame. "Everybody back off," he ordered. "We're going to match in with the Gap. There may be a local disturbance." 15 In Achilles' Tent It had been a half-hour since Mick had stumbled through the gate as it had focused, fallen flat in the low gravity of Luna. Rod was trying to bring order out of confusion, trying to piece together his own wits. Most of the villagers were out on the field, or sitting on top of the wall, watching technicians set up apparatus to turn the locus into a permanent gate, with controls and communications on both sides. Rod tried to tell one that they were exposed, that they should not run around unarmed; without looking up the man had said, "Speak to Mr. Johnson." He found Mr. Johnson, tried again, was interrupted. Will you kids please let us work? We're glad to see you but we've got to get a power fence around this area. No telling what might be in that tall grass." Oh," Rod answered. "Look, I'll set guards. We know what to expect. I'm in ch-" 'Beat it, will you? You kids mustn't be impatient."
So Rod went back inside his city, hurt and angry. Several strangers came in, poked around as if they owned the place, spoke to the excited villagers, went out again. One stopped to look at Jimmy's drum, wrapped it, and laughed. Rod wanted to strangle him. "Rod?" "Uh?" He whirled around. "Yes, Margery?" "Do I cook lunch, or don't I? All my girls have left and Mel says it's silly because we'll all be gone by lunchtime- and I don't know what to do." "Huh? Nobody's leaving . . . that I know of." "Well, maybe not but that's the talk." He was not given time to consider this as one of the ubiquitous strangers came up and said briskly, "Can you tell me where to find a lad named Roderick Welker?" "Walker," Rod corrected. "I'm Rod Walker. What do you want?" "My name is Sansom, Clyde B. Sansom- Administrative Officer in the Emigration Control Service. Now, Welker, I understand you are a group leader for these students. You can-" "I am Mayor of Cooperstown," Rod said stonily. "What do you want?" "Yes, yes, that's what the youngster called you. 'Mayor.'" Sansom smiled briefly and went on. "Now, Walker, we want to keep things orderly. I know you are anxious to get out of your predicament as quickly as possible- but we must do things systematically. We are going to make it easy- just delousing and physical examination, followed by psychological tests and a relocation interview. Then you will all be free to return to your homes- after signing a waiver-of-liability form, but the legal officer will take care of that.
If you will have your little band line up alphabetically- uh, here in this open space, I think, then I will-" He fumbled with his briefcase. "Who the deuce are you to give orders around here?" Sansom looked surprised. "Eh? I told you. If you want to be technical, I embody the authority of the Terran Corporation. I put it as a request- but under field conditions, I can compel cooperation, you know." Rod felt himself turn red. "I don't know anything of the sort! You may be a squad of angels back on Terra but you are in Cooperstown."
Mr. Sansom looked interested but not impressed. "And what, may I ask, is Cowpertown?" "Huh? This is Cooperstown, a Sovereign nation, with its own constitution, its own laws- and its own territory." Rod took a breath. "If the Terran Corporation wants anything, they can send somebody and arrange it. But don't tell us to line up alphabetically!" "Atta boy, Roddie!" Rod said, "Stick around, Carol," then added to Sansom, "Understand me?" "Do I understand," Sansom said slowly, "that you are suggesting that the Corporation should appoint an ambassador to your group?" "Well . . . that's a general idea." "Mmmm . . . an interesting theory, Welker." "'Walker.' And until you do, you can darn well clear the sightseer's out-and to get out yourself. We aren't a zoo." Sansom looked at Rod's ribs, glanced at his dirty, calloused feet, and smiled. Rod said, "Show him out, Carol. Put him out, if you have to." "Yes, sir She advanced on Sansom, grinning. "Oh, I'm leaving," Sansom said quickly. "Better a delay than a mistake in the protocol. An ingenious theory, young man. Good-by. We shall see each other later. Uh . . . a word of advice? May I?" Huh? All right." "Don't take yourself too seriously.
Ready, young lady?" Rod stayed in his hut. He wanted badly to see what was going on beyond the wall, but he did not want to run into Sansom. So he sat and gnawed his thumb and thought. Apparently, some weak sisters were going back -wave a dish of ice cream under their noses, and off they would trot, abandoning their land, throwing away all they had built up. Well, he wouldn't! This was home, his place, he had earned it; he wasn't going back and maybe wait half a lifetime for a chance to move to some other planet probably not as good. Let them go! Cooperstown would be better and stronger without them. Maybe some just wanted to make a visit, show off grandchildren to grandparents, then come back. Probably . . in which case they had better make sure that Sansom or somebody gave them written clearance to come back.
Maybe he ought to warn them. But he didn't have anyone to visit. Except for Sis- and Sis might be anywhere- unlikely that she was on Terra. Bob and Carmen, carrying Hope, came in to say goodbye. Rod shook hands solemnly. "You're coming back, Bob, when you get your degree . . . aren't you?" "Well, we hope so, if possible. If we are permitted to." "Who's going to stop you? It's your right. And when you do, you'll find us here. In the meantime, we'll try not to break legs." Baxter hesitated. "Have you been to the gate lately, Rod?" "No. Why?" "Uh, don't plan too far ahead. I believe some have already gone back." "How many?" "Quite a number." Bob would not commit himself further. He gave Rod the addresses of his parents and Carmen's soberly wished him a blessing and left. Margery did not come back and the fire pit remained cold. Rod did not care, he was not hungry. Jimmy came in at what should have been shortly after lunch, nodded, and sat down. Presently he said, "I've been out at the gate." "So?" "Yup. You know, Rod, a lot of people wondered why you weren't there to say goodbye." "They could come here to say good-by!" "Yes, so they could. But the word got around that you didn't approve. Maybe they were embarrassed." "Me?" Rod laughed without mirth.
"I don't care how many city boys run home to mama. It's a free country." He glanced at Jim. "How many are sticking?" "Uh, I don't know." "I've been thinking. If the group gets small, we might move back to the cave just to sleep, I mean. Until we get more colonists." "Maybe." "Don't be so glum! Even if it got down to just you and me and Jackie and Carol, we'd be no worse off than we once were. And it would just be temporary. There'd be the baby, of course- I almost forgot to mention my god-son. "There's the baby," Jimmy agreed. "What are you pulling a long face about? Jim . you're not thinking of leaving?" Jimmy stood up. Jackie said to tell you that we would stick by whatever you thought was best." Rod thought over what Jimmy had not said. "You mean she wants to go back? Both of you do." "Now, Rod, we're partners. But I've got the kid to think about. You see that?" "Yes. I see." "Well-" Rod stuck out his hand. "Good luck, Jim. Tell Jackie good-by for me. "Oh, she's waiting to say good-by herself. With the kid." "Uh, tell her not to. Somebody once told me that saying good-by was a mistake. Be seeing you." "Well-so long, Rod. Take care of yourself." "You, too. If you see Caroline, tell her to come in. Caroline was slow appearing; he guessed that she had been at the gate. He said bluntly, "How many are left?" "Not many," she admitted. "How many?" "You and me- and a bunch of gawkers."
"Nobody else?" "I checked them off the list. Roddie, what do we do now?" "Huh? It doesn't matter. Do you want to go back?" "You're boss, Roddie. You're the Mayor." "Mayor of what? Carol, do you want to go back?" "Roddie, I never thought about it. I was happy here. But-" "But what?" "The town is gone, the kids are gone- and I've got only a year if I'm ever going to be a cadet Amazon." She blurted out the last, then added, "But I'll stick if you do." "No." "I will so!" "No. But I want you to do something when you go back." "What?" "Get in touch with my sister Helen. Find out where she is stationed. Assault Captain Helen Walker- got it? Tell her I'm okay . . . and tell her I said to help you get into the Corps." "Uh . . . Roddie, I don't want to go!" "Beat it. They might relax the gate and leave you behind." "You come, too." "No. I've got things to do. But you hurry. Don't say good-by. Just go." "You're mad at me, Roddie?" "Of course not. But go, please, or you'll have me bawling, too." She gave a choked cry, grabbed his head and smacked his cheek, then galloped away, her sturdy legs pounding. Rod went into his shack and lay face down. After a while he got up and began to tidy Cowpertown. It was littered, dirtier than it had been since the morning of Grant's death. It was late afternoon before anyone else came into the village. Rod heard and saw them long before they saw him-two men and a woman. The men were dressed in city garb; she was wearing shorts, shirt, and smart sandals. Rod stepped out and said, "What do you want?" He was carrying his spear. The woman squealed, then looked and added, "Wonderful!" One man was carrying a pack and tripod which Rod recognized as multi-recorder of the allpurpose sightsmell-sound-touch sort used by news services and expeditions. He said nothing, set his tripod down, plugged in cables and started fiddling with dials. The other man, smaller, ginger haired, and with a terrier mustache, said, "You're Walker? The one the others call 'the Mayor'?" "Yes." "Kosmic hasn't been in here?" "Cosmic what?" "Kosmic Keynotes, of course. Or anybody? LIFETIME-SPACE? Galaxy Features?" "I don't know what you mean. There hasn't been anybody here since morning."
The stranger twitched his mustache and sighed. "That's all I want to know. Go into your trance, Ellie. Start your box, Mac." "Wait a minute," Rod demanded. "Who are you and what do you want?" "Eh? I'm Evans of Empire . . . Empire Enterprises." "Pulitzer Prize," the other man said and went on working; "With Mac's help," Evans added quickly. "The lady is Ellie Ellens herself." Rod looked puzzled. Evans said, "You don't know? Son, where have you-never mind. She's the highest paid emotional writer in the system. Shell interpret you so that every woman reader from the Outlands Overseer to the London Times will cry over you and want to comfort you. She's a great artist." Miss Ellens did not seem to hear the tribute. She wandered around with a blank face, stopping occasionally to look or touch. She turned and said to Rod, "Is this where you held your primitive dances?" "What? We held square dances here, once a week." "'Square dances' . . . Well, we can change that." She went back into her private world. "The point is, brother," Evans went on, "we don't want just an interview. Plenty of that as they came through. That's how we found out you were here- and dropped everything to see you. I'm not going to dicker; name your own price- but it's got to be exclusive, news, features, commercial rights, everything. Uh . . ." Evans looked around. "Advisory service, too, when the actors arrive. "Actors?!" "Of course. If the Control Service had the sense to sneeze, they would have held you all here until a record was shot. But we can do it better with actors. I want you at my elbow every minute- we'll have somebody play your part. Besides that-" "Wait a minute!" Rod butted in. "Either I'm crazy or you are. In the first place I don't want your money. "Huh? You signed with somebody? That guard let another outfit in ahead of us?" "What guard? I haven't seen anybody." Evans looked relieved.
"We'll work it out. The guard they've got to keep anybody from crossing your wall- I thought he might have both hands out. But don't say you don't need money; that's immoral." "Well, I don't. We don't use money here." "Sure, sure . . . but you've got a family, haven't you? Families always need money. Look, let's not fuss. We'll treat you right and you can let it pile up in the bank. I just want you to get signed up." "I don't see why I should." "Binder," said Mac. "Mmm . . . yes, Mac. See here, brother, think it over. Just let us have a binder that you won't sign with anybody else. You can still stick us for anything your conscience will let you. Just a binder, with a thousand plutons on the side." "I'm not going to sign with anybody else." "Got that, Mac?" "Canned." Evans turned to Rod. "You don't object to answering questions in the meantime, do you? And maybe a few pictures?" "Uh, I don't care." Rod was finding them puzzling and a little annoying, but they were company and he was bitterly lonely. "Fine!" Evans drew him out with speed and great skill. Rod found himself telling more than he realized he knew. At one point Evans asked about dangerous animals. "I understand they are pretty rough here. Much trouble?" "Why, no," Rod answered with sincerity. "We never had real trouble with animals. What trouble we had was with people . . . and not much of that." "You figure this will be a premium colony?" "Of course. The others were fools to leave. This place is like Terra, only safer and richer and plenty of land. In a few years- say!" "Say what?" "How did it happen that they left us here? We were only supposed to be here ten days." "Didn't they tell you?" "Well . . . maybe the others were told. I never heard." "It was the supernova, of course. Delta, uh-" "Delta Gamma one thirteen," supplied Mac. "That's it. Space-time distortion, but I'm no mathematician." "Fluxion," said Mac. "Whatever that is. They've been fishing for you ever since. As I understand it, the wave front messed up their figures for this whole region. Incidentally, brother, when you go back-" ''I'm not going back." "Well, even on a visit. Don't sign a waiver. The Board is trying to call it an 'Act of God' and duck responsibility. So let me put a bug in your ear: don't sign away your rights. A friendly hint, huh?" "Thanks. I won't- well, thanks anyhow." "Now how about action pix for the lead stories?" "Well . . . okay." "Spear," said Mac. "Yeah, I believe you had some sort of spear. Mind holding it?" Rod got it as the great Ellie joined them. "Wonderful!" she breathed. "I can feel it. It shows how thin the line is between man and beast. A hundred cultured boys and girls slipping back to illiteracy, back to the stone age, the veneer sloughing away . . . reverting to savagery. Glorious!" "Look here!" Rod said angrily. "Cowpertown wasn't that way at all! We had laws, we had a constitution, we kept clean. We-" He stopped; Miss Ellens wasn't listening. "Savage ceremonies," she said dreamily. "A village witch doctor pitting ignorance and superstition against nature. Primitive fertility rites-" She stopped and said to Mac in a businesslike voice, "We'll shoot the dances three times. Cover 'em a little for 'A' list; cover 'em up a lot for the family list-and peel them down for the 'B' list. Got it?" "Got it," agreed Mac. "I'll do three commentaries she added. "It will be worth the trouble." She reverted to her trance. "Wait a minute!" Rod protested. "If she means what I think she means, there won't be any pictures, with or without actors." "Take it easy," Evans advised. "I said you would be technical supervisor, didn't I? Or would you rather we did it without you? Ellie is all right, brother. What you don't know- and she doesis that you have to shade the truth to get at the real truth, the underlying truth. You'll see. "But-" Mac stepped up to him. "Hold still." Rod did so, as Mac raised his hand. Rod felt the cool touch of an air brush. "Hey! What are you doing?" "Make up." Mac returned to his gear. "Just a little war paint," Evans explained. "The pic needs color. It will wash off." Rod opened his mouth and eyes in utter indignation; without knowing it he raised his spear. "Get it, Mac!" Evans ordered. "Got it," Mac answered calmly. Rod fought to bring his anger down to where he could talk. "Take that tape out," he said softly. "Throw it on the ground. Then get out." "Slow down," Evans advised. "You'll like that pic. We'll send you one. "Take it out. Or I'll bust the box and anybody who gets in my way!" He aimed his spear at the multiple lens.
Mac slipped in front, protected it with his body. Evans called out, "Better look at this." Evans had him covered with a small but businesslike gun. "We go a lot of funny places, brother, but we go prepared. You damage that recorder, or hurt one of us, and you'll be sued from here to breakfast. It's a serious matter to interfere with a news service, brother. The public has rights, you know." He raised his voice. "Ellie! We're leaving." "Not yet," she answered dreamily. "I must steep my-self in-" "Right now! It's an 'eight-six' with the Reuben Steuben!" "Okay!" she snapped in her other voice. Rod let them go. Once they were over the wall he went;back to the city hall, sat down, held his knees and shook. Later he climbed the stile and looked around. A guard was on duty below him; the guard looked up but said nothing. The gate was relaxed to a mere control hole but a loading platform had been set up and a power fence surrounded it and joined the wall. Someone was working at a control board set up on a flatbed truck; Rod decided that they must be getting ready for major immigration. He went back and prepared a solitary meal, the poorest he had eaten in more than a year. Then he went to bed and listened to the jungle "Grand Opera" until he went to sleep. "Anybody home?" Rod came awake instant!y, realized that it was morning- and that not all nightmares were dreams. "Who's there?" "Friend of yours." B. P. Matson stuck his head in the door. "Put that whittler away. I'm harmless." Rod bounced up. "Deacon! I mean 'Doctor.'" "'Deacon,'" Matson corrected. "I've got a visitor for you." He stepped aside and Rod saw his sister. Some moments later Matson said mildly, "If you two can unwind and blow your noses, we might get this on a coherent basis." Rod backed off and looked at his sister. "My, you look wondeful, Helen." She was in mufti, dressed in a gay tabard and briefs. "You've lost weight." "Not much. Better distributed, maybe. You've gained, Rod. My baby brother is a man." "How did you-" Rod stopped, struck by suspicion. "You didn't come here to talk me into going back? If you did, you can save your breath." Matson answered hastily. "No, no, no! Farthest thought from our minds. But we heard about your decision and we wanted to see you-s o I did a little politickmg and got us a pass." He added, "Nominally I'm a temporary field agent for the service. "Oh. Well, I'm certainly glad to see you . . . as long as that is understood." "Sure, sure!" Matson took out a pipe, stoked and fired it. "I admire your choice, Rod. First time I've been on Tangaroa." "On what?" "Huh? Oh. Tangaroa. Polynesian goddess, I believe. Did you folks give it another name?" Rod considered it. "To tell the truth, we never got around to it. It . . . well, it just was." Matson nodded. "Takes two of anything before you need names. But it's lovely, Rod. I can see you made a lot of progress. "We would have done all right," Rod said bitterly, "if they hadn't jerked the rug out." He shrugged. "Like to look around?" "I surely would." "All right. Come on, Sis. Wait a minute- I haven't had breakfast; how about you?" "Well, when we left the Gap is was pushing lunch time. I could do with a bite. Helen?" "Yes, indeed." Rod scrounged in Margery's supplies. The haunch on which he had supped was not at its best. He passed it to Matson. "Too high?" Matson sniffed it. "Pretty gamy. I can eat it if you can. "We should have hunted yesterday, but . . . things happened." He frowned. "Sit tight. I'll get cured meat." He ran up to the cave, found a smoked side and some salted strips. When he got back Matson had a fire going. There was nothing else to serve; no fruit had been gathered the day before. Rod was uneasily aware that their breakfasts must have been very different. But he got over it in showing off how much they had done- potter's wheel, Sue's loom with a piece half finished, the flume with the village fountain and the showers that ran continuously, iron artifacts that Art and Doug had hammered out. "I'd like to take you up to Art's iron works but there is no telling what we might run into." "Come now, Rod, I'm not a city boy. Nor is your sister helpless." Rod shook his head. "I know this country; you don't. I can go up there at a trot. But the only way for you would be a slow sneak, because I can't cover you both." Matson nodded. "You're right. It seems odd to have one of my students solicitous over my health. But you are right. We don't know this set up. Rod showed them the stobor traps and described the annual berserk migration. "Stobor pour through those holes and fall in the pits. The other animals swarm past, as solid as city traffic for hours." "Catastrophic adjustment," Matson remarked. "Huh? Oh, yes, we figured that out. Cyclic catastrophic balance, just like human beings. If we had facilities, we could ship thousands of carcasses back to Earth every dry season. He considered it. "Maybe we will, now. "Probably." "But up to now it has been just a troublesome nuisance. These stobor especially- I'll show you one out in the field when- say!" Rod looked thoughtful. "These are stobor, aren't they? Little carnivores heavy in front, about the size of a tom cat and eight times as nasty?" "Why ask me?" "Well, you warned us against stobor. All the classes were warned." "I suppose these must be stobor," Matson admitted, "but I did not know what they looked like." "Huh?" "Rod, every planet has its 'stobor' . . . all different. Sometimes more than one sort." He stopped to tap his pipe. "You remember me telling the class that every planet has unique dangers, different from every other planet in the Galaxy?" "Yes. . ." "Sure, and it meant nothing, a mere intellectual concept. But you have to be afraid of the thing behind the concept, if you are to stay alive. So we personify it . . . but we don't tell you what it is. We do it differently each year. It is to warn you that the unknown and deadly can lurk anywhere . . . and to plant it deep in your guts instead of in your head." "Well, I'll be a- Then there weren't any stobor! There never were!"
"Sure there were. You built these traps for them, didn't you?" * * * * *
When they returned, Matson sat on the ground and said, "We can't stay long, you know. "I realize that. Wait a moment." Rod went into his hut, dug out Lady Macbeth, rejoined them. "Here's your knife, Sis. It saved my skin more than once. Thanks." She took the knife and caressed it, then cradled it and looked past Rod's head. It flashed by him, went tuckspong! in a corner post. She recovered it, came back and handed it to Rod. "Keep it, dear, wear it always in safety and health." "Gee, Sis, I shouldn't. I've had it too long now." "Please. I'd like to know that Lady Macbeth is watching over you, wherever you are. And I don't need a knife much now." "Huh? Why not?" "Because I married her," Matson answered. Rod was caught speechless. His sister looked at him and said, "What's the matter, Buddy? Don't you approve?" "Huh? Oh, sure! It's . . ." He dug into his memory, fell back on quoted ritual: "'May the Principle make you one. May your union be fruitful.'" "Then come here and kiss me." Rod did so, remembered to shake hands with the Deacon. It was all right, he guessed, butwell, how old were they? Sis must be thirtyish and the Deacon . . . why the Deacon was oldprobably past forty. It did not seem quite decent. But he did his best to make them feel that he approved. After he thought it over he decided that if two people, with their lives behind them, wanted company in their old age, why, it was probably a good thing. "So you see," Matson went on, "I had a double reason to look you up. In the first place, though I am no longer teaching, it is vexing to mislay an entire class. In the second place, when one of them is your brother-in-law it is downright embarrassing." "You've quit teaching?" "Yes. The Board and I don't see eye to eye on policy. Secondly, I'm leading a party out . . . and this time your sister and I are going to settle down and prove a farm." Matson looked at him. "Wouldn't be interested, would you? I need a salted lieutenant." "Huh? Thanks, but as I told you, this is my place. Uh, where are you going?" "Territa, out toward the Hyades. Nice place- they are charging a stiff premium." Rod shrugged. "Then I couldn't afford it." "As my lieutenant, you'd be exempt. But I wasn't twisting your arm; I just thought you ought to have a chance to turn it down. I have to get along with your sister, you know." Rod glanced at Helen. "Sorry, Sis." "It's all right, Buddy. We're not trying to live your life." "Mmm . . . no. Matson puffed hard; then went on. "However, as your putative brother and former teacher I feel obligated to mention a couple of things. I'm not trying to sell you anything, but I'll appreciate it if you'll listen. Okay?" "Well . . . go ahead." "This is a good spot. but you might go back to school, you know. Acquire recognized professional status. If you refuse recall, here you stay . . . forever. You won't see the rest of the Outlands. They won't give you free passage back later. But a professional gets around, he sees the world. Your sister and I have been on some fifty planets. School does not look attractive now- you're a man and it will be hard to wear boy's shoes. But-" Matson swept an arm, encompassed all of Cowpertown, "-this counts. You can skip courses, get field credit. I have some drag with the Chancellor of Central Tech. Hmmm?" Rod sat with stony face, then shook his head. "Okay," said Matson briskly. "No harm done." "Wait. Let me tell you." Rod tried to think how to explain how he felt . . . "Nothing, I guess," he said gruffly. Matson smoked in silence. "You were leader here," he said at last. "Mayor," Rod corrected. "Mayor of Cowpertown. I was the Mayor, I mean." "You are the Mayor. Population one, but you are still boss. And even those bureaucrats in the control service wouldn't dispute that you've proved the land. Technically you are an autonomous colony- I hear you told Sansom that." Matson grinned. "You're alone, however. You can't live alone, Rod . . . not and stay human." "Well, yes- but aren't they going to settle this planet?" "Sure. Probably fifty thousand this year, four times that many in two years. But, Rod, you would be part of the mob. Theyll bring their own leaders."
"I don't have to be boss! I just- well, I don't want to give up Cowpertown." "Rod, Cowpertown is safe in history, along with Plymouth Rock, Botany Bay, and Dakin's Colony. The citizens of Tangaroa will undoubtedly preserve it as a historical shrine. Whether you stay is another matter. Nor am I trying to persuade you. I was simply pointing out alternatives." He stood up. "About time we started, Helen." "Yes, dear." She accepted his hand and stood up. "Wait a minute!" insisted Rod. "Deacon . . . Sis! I know I sound like a fool. I know this is gone . . . the town, and the kids, and everything. But I can't go back." He added, "It's not that I don't want to." Matson nodded. "I understand you." "I don't see how. I don't." "Maybe I've been there. Rod, everyone of us is beset by two things: a need to go home, and the impossibility of doing it. You are at the age when these hurt worst. You've been thrown into a situation that makes the crisis doubly acute. You- don't interrupt me- you've been a man here, the old man of the tribe, the bull of the herd. That is why the others could go back but you can't. Wait, please! I suggested that you might find it well to go back and be an adolescent for a while . . . and it seems unbearable. I'm not surprised. It would be easier to be a small child. Children are another race and adults deal with them as such. But adolescents are neither adult nor child. They have the impossible, unsolvable, tragic problems of all fringe cultures. They don't belong, they are second-class citizens, economically and socially insecure. It is a difficult period and I don't blame you for not wanting to return to it. I simply think it might pay. But you have been king of a whole world; I imagine that term papers and being told to wipe your feet and such are out of the question. So good luck. Coming, dear?" "Deacon," his wife said, "Aren't you going to tell him?" "It has no bearing. It would be an unfair way to influence his judgment." "You men! I'm glad I'm not male!" "So am I," Matson agreed pleasantly. "I didn't mean that. Men behave as if logic were stepping on crack in a sidewalk. I'm going to tell him." "On your head be it." "Tell me what?" demanded Rod. "She means," said Matson, "that your parents are back." "What?" "Yes, Buddy. They left stasis a week ago and Daddy came out of the hospital today. He's well. But we haven't told him all about you- we haven't known what to say." The facts were simple, although Rod found them hard to soak up. Medical techniques had developed in two years, not a pessimistic twenty; it had been possible to relax the stasis, operate, and restore Mr. Walker to the world. Helen had known for months that such outcome was likely, but their father's physician had not approved until he was sure. It had been mere coincidence that Tangaroa had been located at almost the same time. To Rod one event was as startling as the other; his parents had been dead to him for a long time. "My dear," Matson said sternly, "now that you have thrown him into a whingding, shall we go?" "Yes. But I had to tell him." Helen kissed Rod quickly, turned to her husband. They started to walk away. Rod watched them, his face contorted in an agony of indecision. Suddenly he called out, "Wait! I'm coming with you." "All right," Matson answered. He turned his good eye toward his wife and drooped the lid in a look of satisfaction that was not quite a wink. "If you are sure that is what you want to do, I'll help you get your gear together." "Oh, I haven't any baggage. Let's go." Rod stopped only long enough to free the penned animals. 16 The Endless Road Matson chaperoned him through Emigrants' Gap, saved from possible injury a functionary who wanted to give Rod psychological tests, and saw to it that he signed no waivers. He had him bathed, shaved, and barbered, then fetched him clothes, before he let him be exposed to the Terran world. Matson accompanied them only to Kaibab Gate. "I'm supposed to have a lodge dinner, or something, so that you four can be alone as a family. About nine, dear. See you, Rod." He kissed his wife and left. "Sis? Dad doesn't know I'm coming?" Helen hesitated. "He knows. I screened him while Deacon was primping you."
She added, "Remember, Rod, Dad has been ill . . . and the time has been only a couple of weeks to him." "Oh, that's so, isn't it?" Used all his life to Ramsbotham anomalies, Rod nevertheless found those concerned with time confusing- planet-hopping via the gates did not seem odd. Besides, he was extremely edgy without knowing why, the truth being that he was having an attack of fear of crowds. The Matsons had anticipated it but had not warned him lest they make him worse. The walk through tall trees just before reaching home calmed him. The necessity for checking all cover for dangerous animals and keeping a tree near him always in mind gave his subconscious something familiar to chew on. He arrived home almost cheerful without being aware either that he had been frightened by crowds or soothed by non-existent dangers of an urban forest. His father looked browned and healthy- but shorter and smaller. He embraced his son and his mother kissed him and wept. "It's good to have you home, son. I understand you had quite a trip." "It's good to be home, Dad." "I think these tests are much too strenuous, I really do." Rod started to explain that it really had not been a test, that it had not been strenuous, and that Cowpertown- Tangaroa, rather- had been a soft touch. But he got mixed up and was disturbed by the presence of "Aunt" Nora Peascoat- no relation but a childhood friend of his mother. Besides, his father was not listening. But Mrs. Peascoat was listening, and looking-peering with little eyes through folds of flesh. "Why, Roderick Walker, I knew that couldn't have been a picture of you." "Eh?" asked his father. "What picture?" "Why, that wild-man picture that had Roddie's name on it. You must have seen it; it was on facsimile and Empire Hour both. I knew it wasn't him. I said to Joseph, 'Joseph,' I said, 'that's not a picture of Rod Walker-its a fake.'" "I must have missed it. As you know, I-" "I'll send it to you; I clipped it. I knew it was a fake. It's a horrible thing, a great naked savage with pointed teeth and a fiendish grin and a long spear and war paint all over its ugly face. I said to Joseph-" "As you know, I returned from hospital just this morning, Nora. Rod, there was no picture of you on the news services, surely?" "Uh, yes and no. Maybe." "I don't follow you. Why should there be a picture of you?" "There wasn't any reason. This bloke just took it." "Then there was a picture?" "Yes." Rod saw that "Aunt" Nora was eyeing him avidly: "But it was a fake- sort of." "I still don't follow you. "Please, Pater," Helen intervened. "Rod had a tiring trip. This can wait." "Oh, surely. I don't see how a picture can be 'a sort of a fake.'" "Well, Dad, this man painted my face when I wasn't looking. I-" Rod stopped, realizing that it sounded ridiculous. "Then it was your picture?" "Aunt" Nora insisted. "I'm not going to say any more. Mr. Walker blinked. "Perhaps that is best." "Aunt" Nora looked ruffled. "Well, I suppose anything can happen 'way off in those odd places. From the teaser on Empire Hour I understand some very strange things did happen . . . not all of them nice." She looked as if daring Rod to deny it. Rod said nothing. She went on, "I don't know what you were thinking of, letting a boy do such things. My father always said that if the Almighty had intended us to use those gate things instead of rocket ships He would have provided His own holes in the sky." Helen said sharply, "Mrs. Peascoat, in what way is a rocket ship more natural than a gate?" "Why, Helen Walker! I've been 'Aunt Nora' all your life. 'Mrs. Peascoat' indeed!" Helen shrugged. "And my name is Matson, not Walker- as you know." Mrs. Walker, distressed and quite innocent, broke in to ask Mrs. Peascoat to stay for dinner. Mr. Walker added, "Yes, Nora, join us Under the Lamp." Rod counted to ten. But Mrs. Peascoat said she was sure they wanted to be alone, they had so much to talk about . . . and his father did not insist. Rod quieted during ritual, although he stumbled in responses and once left an awkward silence. Dinner was wonderfully good, but he was astonished by the small portions; Terra must be under severe rationing. But everyone seemed happy and so he was.
"I'm sorry about this mix-up," his father told him. "I suppose it means that you will have to repeat a semester at Patrick Henry." "On the contrary, Pater," Helen answered, "Deacon is sure that Rod can enter Central Tech with advanced standing." "Really? They were more strict in my day." "All of that group will get special credit. What they learned cannot be learned in classrooms." Seeing that his father was inclined to argue Rod changed the subject. "Sis, that reminds me. I gave one of the girls your name, thinking you were still in the Corps- she wants to be appointed cadet, you see. You can still help her, can't you?" "I can advise her and perhaps coach her for the exams. Is this important to you, Buddy?" "Well, yes. And she is number-one officer material. She's a big girl, even bigger than you areand she looks a bit like you. She is smart like you, too, around genius, and always good-natured and willingbut strong and fast and incredibly violent when you need it . . . sudden death in all directions." "Roderick." His father glanced at the lamp. "Uh, sorry, Dad. I was just describing her." "Very well. Son . . . when did you start picking up your meat with your fingers?" Rod dropped the tidbit and blushed. "Excuse me. We didn't have forks." Helen chuckled. "Never mind, Rod. Pater, it's perfectly natural. Whenever we paid off any of our girls we always put them through reorientation to prepare them for the perils of civil life. And fingers were made before forks." "Mmm . . no doubt. Speaking of reorientation, there is something we must do, daughter, before this family will be organized again." "So?" "Yes. I mean the transfer of guardianship. Now that I am well, by a miracle, I must reassume my responsibilities." Rod's mind slipped several cogs before it penetrated that Dad was talking about him. Guardian? Oh . . . Sis was his guardian, wasn't she? But it didn't mean anything. Helen hesitated. "I suppose so, Pater," she said, her eyes on Rod, "if Buddy wants to." "Eh? That is not a factor, daughter. Your husband won't want the responsibility of supervising a young boy- and it is my obligation . . . and privilege." Helen looked annoyed. Rod said, "I can't see that it matters, Dad. I'll be away at college-and after all I am nearly old enough to vote." His mother looked startled. "Why, Roddie dear!" "Yes," agreed his father. "I'm afraid I can't regard a gap of three years as negligible." "What do you mean, Dad? I'll be of age in January." Mrs. Walker clasped a hand to her mouth. "Jerome we've forgotten the time lag again. Oh, my baby boy!" Mr. Walker looked astonished, muttered something about "-very difficult" and gave attention to his plate. Presently he looked up. "You'll pardon me, Rod. Nevertheless, until you are of age I must do what I can; I hardly think I want you to live away from home while at college." "Sir? Why not?" "Well- I feel that we have drifted apart, and not all for the best. Take this girl you spoke of in such surprising terms. Am I correct in implying that she was, eh a close chum?" Rod felt himself getting warm. "She was my city manager," he said flatly. "Your what?" "My executive officer. She was captain of the guard, chief of police, anything you want to call her. She did everything. She hunted, too, but that was just because she liked to. Carol is, uh- well, Carol is swelled." "Roderick, are you involved with this girl?" "Me? Gosh, no! She was more like a big sister. Oh, Carol was sweet on half a dozen fellows, one time or another, but it never lasted." "I am very glad to hear that you are not seriously interested in her. She does not sound like desirable companionship for a young boy." "Dad- you don't know what you are saying!" "Perhaps. I intend to find out. But what is this other matter? 'City Manager!' What were you?" "I," Rod said proudly, "was Mayor of Cooperstown."
His father looked at him, then shook his head. "We'll speak of this later. Possibly you need, eh- medical help." He looked at Helen. "We'll attend to the change in guardianship tomorrow. I can see that there is much I must take care of." Helen met his eyes. "Not unless Buddy consents." "Daughter!" "The transfer was irrevocable. He will have to agree or I won't do it!" Mr. Walker looked shocked, Mrs. Walker looked stricken. Rod got up and left the room . . . the first time anyone had ever done so while the Lamp of Peace was burning. He heard his father call after him but he did not turn back. He found Matson in his room, smoking, and reading. "I grabbed a bite and let myself in quietly," Matson explained. He inspected Rod's face. "I told you," he said slowly, "that it would be rough. Well, sweat it out, son, sweat it out." "I can't stand it!" "Yes, you can. In Emigrants' Gap, the sturdy cross-country wagons were drawn up in echelon, as they had been so often before and would be so many times again. The gate was not ready; drivers gathered at the booth under Liberty's skirts, drinking coffee and joking through the nervous wait. Their professional captain was with them, a lean, homely young man with deep lines in his face, from the sun and laughing and perhaps some from worry. But he did not seem to be worrying now; he was grinning and drinking coffee and sharing a doughnut with a boy child. He was dressed in fringed buckskin, in imitation of a very old style; he wore a Bill Cody beard and rather long hair.
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