“Yeah, but we won’t be so lucky next time,” I replied. “The raptors are smart. They’ll figure out that backhoes aren’t edible. If they’ve got good color vision—a high likelihood—they’ll probably associate bright yellow with inedible things with hard shells. Then they’ll start concentrating on the soft and squishy two-legged things.”
Butterworth snorted. “I saw your immediate strategy with the drones. I’m just reading your plan for observation and surveillance systems. Looks comprehensive. I have a few small suggestions, which we can go over when convenient.”
I nodded without comment. The colonel’s suggestions would be good ones, and I’d very likely implement them.
“So, where’s Mr. Brodeur? Wasn’t he supposed to be here?”
“He was.” The colonel shrugged. “Something came up. I’ll debrief him separately, and call you if anything requires more discussion.”
I nodded, then glanced over the colonel’s shoulder, where the townsite plan was posted on the far wall. I motioned at it with my chin. “Kind of old-school, isn’t it? A paper poster tacked up on a wall?”
“Hardcopy still has its place, Howard. It’s much bigger than an image on a tablet, and I can make notes on it with a color marker. Of course, I also take a picture, periodically.” The colonel gave me his trademark dry smile. “In other news, we are ready to decant the farming specialists from stasis. Mr. Brodeur tells me that they will have the farm area enclosed within a week.”
“Good. Bert and Ernie are getting antsy about unloading everyone soon.”
Butterworth winced as I mentioned the two colony-ship Bobs. I wasn’t sure which was more amusing—that he disapproved so much over our naming choices, or that he recognized the reference.
“Another month or so, Howard, then we can make that decision with confidence.” The colonel reached forward out of frame. “And maybe by the
time Exodus-1 and Exodus-2 get back to Earth for another load, someone will have found another habitable system and they’ll stop shipping people our way.” Without waiting for a response, he ended the call.
3. Life in Camelot
Bob
March 2167
Delta Eridani
Archimedes placed the bone tool with care and tapped it with a rock. A fleck of flint dropped off the core, and Moses nodded in approval. Archimedes repositioned the tool for his next strike, and glanced at Moses with his ears pointed slightly forward. Moses made a small hand motion. Archimedes moved the tool a fraction to the left and his ears curled with concentration as he again tapped on the tool.
The other Deltan adolescent, whom I’d named Richard, watched Archimedes then tried to copy his technique. But the tool slipped off the cobble and stabbed into his foot. He leaped up and hopped on the other foot, cursing with enthusiasm.
After a few moments, Richard noticed Archimedes’ grin and scowled.
Snarling, he compared Archimedes to pigoid droppings, then stalked off, limping.
Moses and Archimedes were the tribe’s best flint experts and tool-makers.
And based on Richard’s performance, still the only ones. Archimedes was a teenager by Deltan standards—past puberty, but not yet fully grown. He was, however, easily the most intelligent Deltan in the village. Which meant, based on our searches, the most intelligent Deltan on the entire planet of Eden.
Archimedes was the first Deltan in years, it seemed, who could understand Moses’ flint-knapping instructions. A couple of juveniles, like Richard, had shown some interest, but couldn’t maintain the level of concentration required to complete a tool. Very likely Archimedes would have to wait for some of his own progeny before he’d be able to attract any apprentices of his own.
“Moses isn’t looking so good,” Marvin commented, looking over my shoulder.
“Yeah, I know. I think the march from the old village was harder than we expected. A couple of other elderly Deltans have died since they got here.”
I mentioned my theory about potential apprentices, and Marvin laughed. “I can think of at least two females from Archimedes’ cohort who are actively working on that.”
Yeah, gotta love adolescence. Between his flint-knapping skills, his tool-making ability in general, and his position as primary spokesperson for The Bawbe, Archimedes had a level of mojo totally out of keeping with his youth.
All of which apparently went over quite well with the girls.
Archimedes set aside the core and the tools, stood up, and stretched. He and Moses exchanged a few words, and Moses got up and wandered off.
There was no nine-to-five in Deltan society. Things got done when things got done. It looked like they’d had enough for the moment.
Archimedes turned and looked around until he located the drone I was using to observe. He grinned up at me and made a head motion toward the practice range. I bobbed the drone in agreement, then floated after him as he headed in that direction.
I opened the conversation. “Things are looking good. Everyone seems to have settled in.”
Archimedes nodded. He walked in silence for a few more moments.
“Arnold is happy with the new village, uh, Camelot?” I had mentioned my name for the camp once, without running it through the translator.
Archimedes was trying to render the word phonetically. It was a valiant attempt, but no human would have recognized the sound.
“Let’s just go with your word for it, Archimedes. My language doesn’t translate well into Deltan.”
“Fine with me. That hurt my throat. Anyway, Arnold likes how we can defend the two access paths instead of the entire boundary.”
Camelot was a located on a small mesa that was surrounded by scree and cliffs most of the way around. It reminded me a little of an aircraft carrier, including a rocky bluff in the center resembling a carrier’s control island.
Two paths, about 120 degrees apart, were the only ways on or off the mesa, unless you could fly. It was a huge improvement over their old village, which had been just a clearing in the forest. Guarding against gorilloid attacks had been a full-time job at the old village, and they’d still been losing the battle.
“Two people were killed in the last two hands of days, though, right?” I said.
Archimedes shrugged. “The gorilloids are a problem. They are always hungry. And there are so many on this side of the mountains. Guarding is a bigger job when people are away from the village.”
All the more reason to make it less necessary to leave the village. I already had herding on my list of things to teach them. I still needed to find an appropriate herd animal to domesticate. I turned away from the drone window just long enough to sigh and shake my head. That TODO list just kept growing.
I found myself in one of those all-or-nothing situations. I’d made a decision to help the Deltans avoid extinction. What had started as a small, anonymous intervention quickly turned into a full-time job as The Bawbe, resident sky god. I hoped eventually to be able to leave them to their own fate, but that probably wasn’t in the cards for a generation or so.
We had arrived at the practice range, so I dropped the topic. Practice range was a trumped-up description, of course. The range consisted of a flat area at the side of the steep embankment leading up to the central bluff.
Deltans staked up targets on the slope, and they used these to practice the new technology of spear-chucking.