In camp Corbell had done his share of the work, hauling firewood and digging up roots. They had given him a loincloth, but they would not give him a knife to replace his scalpel-spear. He still didn't know what place he held among them. He feared the worst. They were too intelligent. They would see him as a lesser being, an animal.
He needed them. It wasn't just company he needed. He could not travel safely until he knew something about this new continent.
The boy was singing all the verses, to the muted laughter of his companions. Corbell said, "Sooner or later I'll run out of songs. Sooner."
Skatholtz shrugged. "It is all the same. We leave here when light comes again. We go to other... tribes? To tell them that Sarash-Zilish is ready for the long night. You come with us."
"Night? Is it night that's coming?" Had he landed in autumn, then?
"Yes. So you came from space, unready! I thought that. Yes, the long day is ended and the short day-nights are with us and the long night comes near. In the long night we live in the city. Hunters go to the forests around, and food will keep in the cold boxes. In day we live more as we like."
"What's it like out there?"
"You will see." Skatholtz picked up a passing cat-tail and stroked its fur. "We have time to teach you some speaking," he said, and he switched to the language Corbell had tagged Boyish. Corbell was agreeable. He enjoyed language lessons.
Morning: They moved out. There was incredibly little fuss. They all seemed to wake at once. Soup had been simmering all night, made to Corbel's recipe, which they liked. Breakfast was soup in coconut shells. They picked up pots, cloth, the fire starter, half a dozen edged weapons. One, an albino Boy with pink eyes and cottony golden hair, handed Corbell twenty pounds of jerked meat wrapped in cloth. They left.
Corbell woke fully, marching the rest of the way. He had to drive himself to keep up, though the Boys made no attempt to set a steady pace. They ambled. Some dodged into buildings, then jogged to rejoin the tribe.
Savages they were not. They carried an idiosyncratic variety of edged tools, no two alike: scimitars, machetes, sabers, shapes that had no name, all with carefully sculpted handles. They had made the jerky the way Corbell would have, in an oven set on Low. The cloth they carried was indestructible stuff as thin as fine silk. Krayhayft's flashlight/fire starter projected light of variable intensity, in a conical beam or a beam no thicker than a pencil.
Organized they were not. But they had broken camp in minutes! They tramped through silent streets. Ingrowths of jungle grew thicker about them, until the city became jungle. They passed a straight tree trunk that Corbell suddenly realized was vine-wrapped metal. He looked up to see where it joined other members in a hexagonal array: a part of the old dome.
The jungle bore fruit: small oranges, breadfruit, several kinds of nuts. The Boys ate as they walked, and picked raw nuts to replace the roasted nuts they carried. They talked among themselves. Corbell couldn't follow their conversation; it went too fast.
He strode along in their midst, keeping the pace he'd set himself. Incredible, the way his old body had healed! Tomorrow the aches would come; tomorrow he might not be able to move, except he'd damn well better. Today he felt fine. He felt like a scoutmaster leading his troop. Memo: Don't test your authority.
Three hours or so into the hike... and that could almost be a fight developing up ahead. Skatholtz and another Boy were spitting syllables at each other with unwonted vehemence.
Last night's singer loped to join them. Ktoffisp was a burly, big chested Boy with Skatholtz's black man's features and everybody's pale skin. He snapped one word at the two and they shut up.
Ktollisp looked about him; frowned; pointed. The troop went off in that direction. They found a clearing, a few bushes growing on otherwise bare ground. Corbell watched, not understanding, as the troop formed a circle and Skatholtz and the other Boy stepped into it.
What was this, a duel? The two dropped their knives and breechclouts (no pubic hair). They circled like wrestlers. The challenger kicked at Skatholtz's heart. Skatholtz swerved clear... and now it was happening too fast to follow. Fists and feet and elbows struck to kilclass="underline" a momentary hold broken by an elbow between the eyes, the challenger kicked off balance and handspringing clear; Skatholtz jumping full over a bush and then using it as a shield. It looked like a damned dance! But Skatholtz was favoring one leg, and the other Boy was circling faster. He was going to run him down.
He caught a kick in the face as he closed. Skatholtz moved in for the kill.
Ktoffisp barked one word.
The bloody-nosed Boy cringed before Skatholtz, held the pose a moment, then straightened.
Everyone got up and started moving again. Someone else was carrying Skatholtz's cumbersome pack of cloth. His opponent was grinning and wiping at a bloody nose.
In mid-afternoon Skatholtz said two words Corbell recognized. He said, "Stop talk."
They did. Now the silence of their march was uncanny.
Skatholtz dropped back to walk beside Corbell. Very quietly he said, in Boyish, "You walk too loudly."
"I can't help it. Are we hiding from something?"
"From dinner we hide. Earlier was too early. We did not want to carry food so far. If something moves, let me know."
Corbell nodded. He didn't expect to see anything. It would be months before his brain could train his eyes to see what the Boys could see in familiar territory. The keen-eyed Indian sees things the white man can't, but only in his own environment.
Two Boys transferred their loads to others and slipped away. Corbell couldn't see where they had gone... but presently there was a weird and terrifying sound, like a clarinet screaming for help. Every Boy instantly moved off the trail to flatten against a tree. Corbell copied them.
The tortured clarinet sounded nearer. They heard branches snapping. What would emerge? A tentacled monster, descendant of aliens enslaved by a younger, space-traveling State?
The monster burst from the trees. It was crippled, its forelegs running blood, hamstrung. The Boys followed it, first the hunters and then the rest, slashing at its hind legs.
A baby elephant!
Corbell caught up in time to see it die. It was murder; it left him sick to his stomach. He fought his squeamishness and moved close to examine the corpse. The beast was wrinkled and marked by old scars. No baby, this. It was an adult elephant four feet tall at the shoulder.
He asked Skatholtz, "Can I help?"
"You may not butcher. I cannot let you touch a knife. You are not a dikt, Corbell. You are nothing we know."
"Today I kill nobody." He meant it as a joke, but he didn't know enough Boyish to phrase or inflect it that way.
Skatholtz said, "And tomorrow? I think you make fiction-to-entertain, but lives might end if I am wrong. Do you understand my speech?"
"I will learn." He knew that Skatholtz was using baby talk for his benefit.
"Do you know the chkint?"
"Elephant. When I was young they were bigger, higher than your head at the shoulder." He wondered how elephants had come to Antarctica. Not as meat animals, surely. Maybe there had been a zoo...
Skatholtz looked dubious. "There are larger beasts in the sea, but how could such a beast live on land, without support? Still... I have wondered why the elephant's legs are so thick. Was it to support larger weight?"
"Yes. The legs were more thick when I was young. The beast was the biggest on land. Five million years ago-" he had divided by twelve, for Jupiter years "-there were beasts far larger. We have found the bones turned to rock in the earth."
Skatholtz laughed skeptically and left him.
Having finished butchering the elephant, they departed. Corbell carried a rack of ribs for awhile, but it slowed him down. A disgusted tribesman finally took it away from him.