"But she insisted on going along on my third tour. Then she interfered with all my arrangements and tried to take over the tour direction. On a thing like that, you can't have two leaders; but that's my little Lish."
"You do not approve of executive women?"
"That's not it at all! I've worked for women bosses and never had trouble. But when I'm in charge, I won't put up with anyone's taking over my job so long as I'm conscious and able-bodied. I don't care if it's a he, a she, or an it. Poor Lish can no more help taking over and setting everyone right than Comandante Glumelin could help his drinking before he took the treatment. It's sad; she's such a marvelous person in other ways. But living with her is like taking a bath in lava."
Marot mused: "They say the new Moritzian therapy can abate self-destructive personality traits, given the time and the money."
"Maybe so; but we've got nothing like that out here in the matagais."
"What has become of the lady?"
"On my fourth tour, I flatly refused to let her come along; and when I got back to Novo, she'd flown the coop. I haven't seen her since. She wasn't around Novo when I got back from my last tour, and somebody hinted she'd gone off to shack up with some guy. They wouldn't tell me more; I suppose they were afraid I'd go after him with a sword."
"Would you have?"
Reith shook his head. "Nope. What my ex does is her business."
"I heard a rumor that Foltz had left Novorecife with a woman. Could this have been your former wife?"
"I don't know." Feeling a painful tension rising within, Reith changed the subject. "How about you, Aristide? What's your situation?"
"I am in something of your predicament, my friend. My dear wife decided that she preferred to go off with a younger man, to 'find herself,' whatever that means. I generally know where I am and so have no need to find myself. This fellow was what you would call a drifter, with vague artistic pretensions and an invincible aversion to the work. I could not see his attraction; but I suppose to some, fossil-hunting seems dull, and my little Marcelline said she wanted more adventure and excitement in her life. So off she went, and I have heard nothing since."
"People who go to extra-solar planets, like this one," said Reith, "rarely have close ties on Terra, because of the Rip van Winkle effect."
"Yes indeed," said Marot somberly. "Things being what they were with me, I had few qualms about cutting my Terran ties." He yawned. "My friend, I am worn out and sore in the fesse."
"Okay, we'll turn in. But we must post watches. The Koloftuma don't move about much at night, but we might get a short or a yeki. The best defense is a good, bright fire." Reith paused, listening to the symphony of buzzes, clicks, chirps, trills, and squeals of nocturnal Krishnan life. "Now get that sword out, old boy, and keep it within easy reach!"
Marot fumbled in his gear, saying: "Fortunately the weapon was packed on this aya. I am not used to going armed, since I have worked in several soi-disant wild parts of Terra without difficulty. When I went to Texas to dig in the Permian beds there, my friends warned me that Texans were a fierce and dangerous lot. If a Texan disliked my appearance or accent, I was told, he would cry: 'Draw!' and whip out a pistol; and pan! one paleontologist the fewer. But I had no trouble; in fact I found the Texans polite and hospitable. Who has been in Chilihagh to report on conditions?"
"Strachan and his partner Lund surveyed the Dashtate of Chilihagh after their work on the railroad in Dur. They had to do it by simple plane-table methods, since Novo wouldn't let them carry proper transits, let alone modern wave-pulse stadiometers."
"I did not meet Mr. Lund."
"He's up in Ruz but expected back shortly," said Reith. "The partnership busted up."
"How?"
"Over a woman. Both made a play for Kristina Brunius, the secretary."
"The tall blonde, is it not?"
"Yes. She picked Sigvard Lund, because he was the only one around she could talk Swedish with. So Siggy and Kristina were married, and we danced Swedish folk dances around them. Strachan went off in a snit on a contract with the Republic of Katai-Jhogorai, so the partnership remained dead. It's silly, because Ken's probably dipped his wick with more females of both species than any other Terran on this planet."
"But what about Chilihagh?" persisted Marot.
"The only other Terran I know of who's been there lately was the writer, Esteban Surkov. At least, that's where he was headed the last we heard of him."
"That is a peculiar name."
"He's a South American—forget which country—of Russian ancestry. He went off to Chilihagh to get material for a book, and then—silence."
"Do you mean he has disappeared?" asked Marot.
"As far as Novo knows, he has. We may never learn what happened to him. I promised Castanhoso to inquire around."
"Are such disappearances frequent?"
"Not unusual. People go off and vanish. Once in a while Novo hears that so-and-so was eaten by a yeki, or was drowned crossing a river, or is the chief of a backward tribe, or has been beheaded for violating some religious tabu."
"Does Novorecife do nothing to protect its people?"
"They make treaties with the nearer states and try to persuade the others to use Terrans kindly. But the Interplanetary Council forbids anything smacking of imperialism, so in the end all Novo can do is to tell the Terran that the place he means to go to is dangerous. If he goes there, he'll be on his own."
"What species of person was this Surkov?"
Reith shrugged in the darkness. "Nothing special; just a little dark guy. He seemed a bit starry-eyed—you know, impractical and absent-minded. Those qualities don't make one a good insurance risk here." Reith yawned. "Okay, do you want first watch?"
"You get some sleep, please. All this talk has awakened me again. Do you mind if I play this for a little?" He held up a flute.
"No; go ahead. It'll put me to sleep."
"Good!" Marot settled himself and tweetled a melancholy air.
Dawn was paling the greenish Krishnan sky when Reith, on watch, abruptly sat up. His ears had caught a faint sound that was not that of the smaller Krishnan wild life. He leaned over and shook Marot.
"Wake up, Aristide!" he whispered. "I think I hear Koloftuma on the causeway."
"Hein? Que diable ... Oh, it is you, Fergus. What—"
"Quiet! Our tailed friends must have marched all night to catch up with us. Listen!"
A susurration of guttural voices grew. Then Reith's ears caught the slap of bare feet on the causeway.
"What shall we do?" breathed Marot.
"Keep quiet and hope the ayas don't give us away."
"I thought they did not travel at night—"
"So did I; but I must have been wrong. Now move very slowly to where we can see the road. Keep behind me!"
They crept to the flank of the hillock. Presently a score of Koloftuma came in sight, muttering and chattering. They were armed in the same fashion as yesterday's group, but Reith could not be sure whether they were indeed the same. When sighted, they were already abreast of the hill.
"Damn!" whispered Reith. "Now they're between us and our destination, and in this muck we can't circle round and get ahead of them."
"Why did we not get on the road sooner?"
"Because I'm stupid. Hey, look at that!"
He pointed to Marot's left leg. A leech had inserted its head through one of the eyelets in Marot's boot and gnawed through tongue and sock to reach flesh. It was now engorged to the size of a tennis ball and purple from the blood beneath its tightly-stretched skin.
"Pouah!" said Marot, reaching for the parasite.
"Don't pull it off," said Reith. "Wait here."