And now there were only two of them again. How long would it be wise to stay here before giving up on Roy? How long would it be safe?
They heard footsteps coming toward them.
Rachel rose and stood behind Eric, who unslung a spear. The footsteps came closer, grew louder. Roy trotted around a curve in the tunnel.
“Roy!” they yelled, and ran at him with open arms. Rachel hugged him, covering his face with kisses. Eric pounded his back, grabbed a fistful of hair and pulledhis head back and forth. “You old Runner, you!” he car-oled ecstatically. “You crazy old heroic Runner, you!”
When they finally let him go, Roy shook himself and inquired mildly: “Where’s the food? I built up a bit of an appetite.”
Catching sight of his knapsack, he strode over to it, opened it and squatted to eat. There was a jauntiness in the Runner’s bearing that Eric hadn’t seen for many a sleep period.
They sat down next to him. “What happened?” they demanded.
“Nothing much,” he said with his mouth full. “I led them around and around and around. Then I put on some speed and lost them. Most of the time I’ve been spending has been to get back here.”
“You’re wonderful!” Rachel told him. “You’re absolutely wonderful! People will make up songs and stories about what you did.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Rachel. The whole thing wasn’t much of a sprint for a Runner. For a real Runner, that is.”
“And that’s what you are,” Eric said earnestly. “The best damn Runner in the whole twisting burrows! Where did you lose them?”
Roy grinned. “Remember that tribe yesterday? The poisoned people?”
They nodded.
“I led them back there. ‘You want to eat people?’ I said. ‘Here you are. Some people. Eat them.’ I hope they get a bellyache they’ll never forget.”
After the meal, it was a while before they started on their way again. They wanted to continue downhill, but it would be stupid to go back to where they had met the Wild Men. Eric had to find a gradient that ran in a slightly different direction.
He’d been turning an idea over in his mind. Now he took a small quantity of food and squeezed it into a ball. He rolled the ball up and down several corridors.; When it rolled freely away from them, he picked it up and followed along the slope it had revealed.
In the next five days, they came across two more exterminated tribes. The situation in each was the same as in the first they had encountered, except that, from th greater abundance of material objects and handicrafts generally, Eric knew that in his own section of the burrows he would have labeled them “Strangers.” Death had caught these men and women in mid-gesture also; here and there, a laughing child stood poised on one leg, forever immobilized in its play.
But there were individuals who looked frantic, or horrified. And on the further outskirts of these burrows, they found gray statues in running attitudes, whose backs were: to their own central burrow. Apparently, there had been some warning not enough.
They replenished their supplies of food and water at each place. No living thing came across their path, until—a full sleep period past the last of these tribal cemeteries they saw half a dozen people at the far end of a tunnel. The other group tossed a few spears which fell harmlessly short, and then fled, shrieking.
Refugees from a poisoned burrow, it was obvious, since there were women among them. Refugees fearfully roaming the corridors in a group too small to put up any effective resistance against Wild Men or tribal enemies. Essentially respectable people who had been catapulted into the position of outlaws by the Monsters’ pest control program.
“Alien-Science!” Roy commented heavily. “A religion that sets itself up to study the Monsters! Are we suppose to learn how to do things like this?”
“Is Ancestor-Science any better?” Rachel asked him “You know, Roy, there was a place the ancestors had that they called Hiroshima.” She told him about it.
When she had finished, he walked in silence for a few moments. “So they’re both filthy. Then what’s the answer?”
“The answer lies in a totally different direction. Wait till we get to my people. You’ll see. A new kind of answer, a new way of—” She broke off. “Eric, what is it?”
Eric had stopped at an intersection formed by five branching burrows. He walked back slowly, retracing their footsteps to the previous intersection. This one was formed by three branching burrows. He pulled out the map, Rachel and Roy crowding around him.
“Do you see?” he said, pointing to tightly packed and crossing lines at the very edge of the map. “I think this is where we are right now.” He smiled at Rachel, flourishing his education. “Terra cognita, if you know what I mean.”
For a moment, they were all excited. Then Roy said: “There could be lots of places where a five-branch follows a three-branch.”
“No, Roy, there aren’t very many five-branch intersections in the burrows. You know that. And damned few three-branch ones. Most intersections are a simple cross-through of two tunnels that make four branches. I think we’ve arrived. We’ve been on the map for some time.”
“Well, if it isn’t the Aaron People!” Roy called out, walking up to a section of tunnel wall and holding out his hand in greeting. “How are you? and how are all the little Aaron People?” He came back to them. “Filthy snobs,” he said. “They wouldn’t speak to me. They cut me dead.” He dodged the mighty punch which Eric swung.
But Eric was right, it became more and more evident. Every tunnel they passed through after this curved the way the map said it should; every intersection now occurred at exactly the right place and forked off in exactly the right manner. Finally, Rachel told Eric to put away the map. She knew the way and could lead them.
They came to an especially long, straight corridor.
Three men stood guard at the end of it, two of them armed with long bows and the third with a crossbow. Eric recognized the weapons from Rachel’s description of them back in the cage. Such arms could only be used in defense of Aaron People territory. Warriors were forbidden by law to carry them elsewhere; this was partially to prevent their falling into the hands of other tribes who might copy them, and partially to avoid alerting Monsters who might be able to construe these complicated devices as signs of certain human intelligence.
As they came closer, the guards fixed arrows into their bows.
“I’m Rachel Esthersdaughter,” the girl called out, stopping a cautious distance away. “Remember me? I went on expedition to Monster territory. Jonathan Danielson was our leader.”
The man with the crossbow was evidently the officer in charge. “I recognize you now,” he said. “All right—keep coming. But, if you can speak to them, tell those Wild Men behind you to keep their hands high over their heads.”
Roy spat angrily. “Wild Men! That’s pretty big talk from warriors with such itsy-bitsy spears.”
“Take it easy,” Eric cautioned him. “Those itsy-bitsy spears can go through you faster and smoother than the longest one you ever saw.” Still, it was hard to avoid becoming furious as he raised his hands into the air. Wild Men—it was worse than he had expected. And among these people he would have to live from now on. He was glad that Roy would be with him: someone besides Rachel would consider him human.
As they reached the guard post, Rachel pointed to a contraption that ran along the wall—a string telegraph, Eric realized. “Put me through,” she said to the officer. “I want to speak to the Aaron.”