Holding Wonder

"How did you find me?" he asked sullenly. "This sector has been deactivated for decades. And I didn't know KAFKA had developed a defense against the ZAPT. They told everyone there was no defense."
"Fugitive, huh?" I said. "Was that thing supposed to kill me?"
"No need for four letter obscenities," he said, frowning with a prissy distaste. "It was supposed to cinder you." He reached out and nudged the weapon with his toe. Then his eyes sharpened. "What uniform is that? It isn't
KAFKA's."
"Uniform?" I asked, looking down at my ranch clothes. "Levi Strauss's latest. No uniform-well, not exactly anyway."
"On what basis is your time computed?" he asked.
"Time?" I relaxed a little against the sand. As long as he talked, he was forgetting that ZAPT thing. "Days? Hours? Months? What time?"
"Years," he said, "I want to know how far back I've gone."
"Back?" I asked. "How do you know you haven't gone forward? After all, your ZAPT thing didn't cinder me much."
"Idiot" he snarled. "I doubt if you're even Tech! Any Tech knows you can't go forward in time. Time isn't until it's been-"
The sand yanked sideways and pulled into wrinkles up the edge of the sky and we both went sprawling. As I whirled over in the wrinkles, I saw the sky vehicle above me slide down another yard or so. I thudded against my car and became aware of an added rear wheel by thumping my head on the right rear hubcap. The door above me swung open as the front wheels elongated and crept up the sky. I clutched the door and clung. I heard the glove compartment snap open and the accumulated miscellany cascaded down to the slanting floor. Without consciously planning to, I surged forward and grabbed my .22 pistol as it slithered from under a road map.
Then I remembered the other fellow-a little late, because all I saw of him was his distorted face as he launched himself toward me, his weapon reversed to make a club. My arm went up protectively around my forehead, my hand tightening to a fist as it did so. There was a spaaat from the pistol and a yowl from the fellow. He rolled back and forth in the sand, nursing his hand between his knees and yelping like a coyote.
I backed away from him warily, pulling my tension along with me. "I musta missed," I said thankfully.
The fellow scuttled back under the overhang of his vehicle, still clutching his wrist. "Some weapon!" he spat. "Didn't even singe me!" "It wasn't aimed," I said. "And it doesn't singe. It perforates. Anyway, why should I want to singe you? The thing went off accidentally. What's with your wonderful weapon?"
"Your force beam knocked it out of my hand," he said sullenly.
"What force beam?" I asked. "That was a solid chunk of lead." His head lifted, interested. "You mean your weapon propels solids? Then you are primitive. Practically Techless!" He relished the insult.
"Oh?" My eyebrow humped up inquiringly. "My weapon smashed the daylights out of yours. Yours didn't even singe me! And if that solid had hit you instead of your gun, you'd be leaking blood all over the place!"
His face shut down almost into a pout and he had no answer. He flicked a look of hatred at me, then his eyes widened as they focused at something out to one side of me and out of range of my peripheral vision. His jaw dropped.
"That's an old one," I said, "Can't you-" And then my jaw dropped as I looked down stupidly at the shiver of my shirt sleeve and the arrow-head that had
creased a fire along my forearm as it ripped the fabric.
"Well, hell-a-mighty!" I spluttered. "How come I'm fair game, coming and going?" I yanked the arrow out of my sleeve and whirled.
Maybe it was an Indian glaring at me, but it was the hairiest one I ever saw. He was crouching behind the stiff crackle of some kind of animal hide that covered him diagonally from one shoulder to the opposite knee. I just had time to hit the sand before another arrow streaked past me and the almost inaudible twaaaaang of the bow was swallowed up in a howl from the other fellow. This arrow had creased him from mouth corner to ear and red was seeping from under his pressing hand. His eyes were staring, astonished and pained.
I meant to try for the bow arm with my .22 but, as I felt the shot jerk off against the ever-present tension, I knew with a sinking in my stomach, that the muzzle had been dead centered on the hide over the savage's hairy belly. I gulped and dropped my gun, waiting for him to fall. He stood and glared and made no move at all. I backed away, my hands groping behind me on each side until my car stopped me. "Brother! I'm sure glad I'm such a lousy shot! I musta missed again!"
"With what?" He had that unsynchronized sound and lip motion, too. "You're not armed." He reached for another arrow from the quiver behind his shoulder and, with a smooth continuation of movement, pulled back until the stone point met the bent bow.
"Hey!" I protested. "Why so bloodthirsty? Why's everyone so all-fired set on perforating me? I haven't been around long enough to do anything to anyone!"
"You're a stranger." That was sufficient for the savage.
"I have to get you before you get me." That was the other fellow.
"Well, I'm peaceable," I said. "And it won't kill either one of you to talk for a minute. Sit down!" I gestured toward the other fellow. "There, under your vehicle, if that's what it is. Don't you wonder why it's hanging up there like that? "
"And you," I pointed at the savage. He pointed back with the arrow that edged back against the bowstring again. "You can see we're not armed. Neither of us can reach you. Put that thing down for a while." Slowly he lowered his arms.
"What's that?" he asked, gesturing with his chin towards my car.
"That?" I asked. "That's my car. It really has four wheels, not three." I was embarrassed for it. "I ride in it from here to there." I hoped whatever it was that made it possible for us to understand each other, was feeding him some meaning to my words.
"Why not walk?" (Apparently the whatever was on duty!)
"A hundred miles?" I asked. "Two hundred?"
"Why go so far" he asked.
"Well, because what I want is that far away."
"How do you know?"
"Because I've been there before. Brother! You've sure got curiosity!"
"Why didn't you stay there then if what you want is there?"
"Well," I scratched the bridge of my nose. "I want lots of things. Not all of them are here nor there. They're all over the place."
"Food's food," said the savage, "and females are females."
"There are other things to want," I said.
"Shelter from cold and from beasts too big to kill-" He dismissed them with a shrug.
"There are other things," I insisted. "Life isn't just-just-there are other things."
"To live by?"
"To live by." I was positive in the face of his skepticism. "Even if you can't touch them or show them-" My face was getting hot. I wasn't at ease with this type of discussion-nor this type of audience.
The savage opened his mouth, paused, looked puzzled and then thoughtful. One of his hands went to his shoulder and his mouth closed.
I turned to look at the other fellow, feeling lines of tension twist up from both my ears to some point above and out as my head moved.
"If I had my ZAPT-" he snarled.
"Why are you so set on killing?" I asked. "No one's a danger to you at the moment." "Everyone's a danger to me every moment!" He fingered his smashed weapon. "You cinder or get cindered-any Tech knows that from Cindergarten on up." His face crumpled a little, sickly weary. "That `Cindergarten' is supposed to be a joke-at least it used to be, a joke. But the law now is that everyone is armed from first public appearance. They say a third of the kindergartners never make it through their first year. A real live ZAPT is so much fun when you first get it."