Richard had set his accurate wrist chronometer for precisely noon at High Vrazel and had carefully improvised a quadrant to measure the solar angle. Every day, the quadrant could be used to tell them local noontime, and the difference between this and p.m. noon shown on the watch could be used to calculate the longitude. When they reached the Ries meridian on the Danube, all they had to do was march due north to reach the crater…
One of the figures in the lead boat raised an arm. The craft pulled in to shore.
“There’s a little break in the northern highlands there,” Felice said. “Maybe Richard has decided it’s our best bet.” When they had beached their boat next to the other one, she asked, “What d’you think, guys? Is this it?”
“Pretty close, anyhow,” Richard said. “And it doesn’t look like too bad a hike, for all it’s uphill. I calculate thirty kilometers north should hit the lower rim. Even if I’m a little off, we should be able to see the thing from the crest of those northern hills. Damn crater’s supposed to be more than twenty kloms wide, after all. How about lunch, while I set up one more sun shot?”
“I’ve got fish,” Martha said, raising a string of silvery-brown shapes. “Richard’s excused for his navigating chores, and that leaves you two to dig the perishin’ bulrushes while Madame and I get these to grilling.”
“Right,” sighed Claude and Felice.
They made their fire in a well-shaded spot near the edge of a large grove, clear water came trickling down a limestone ledge to disappear into a muddy depression that swarmed with little yellow butterflies. After fifteen minutes or so, the delectable smell of roasting young salmon came wafting to the tuber grubbers.
“Come on, Claude,” Felice said, sloshing a net full of lumps up and down in the water to rinse them. “We’ve got enough of these things.”
The paleontologist stood quietly, up to his knees in the river among the tall stalks. “I thought I heard something. Probably beavers.”
They waded back to the bank where they had left their boots. Both pairs were still there, but something, or someone, had been messing about with them.
“Look here,” said Claude, studying the surrounding mud.
“Babyfootprints!” Felice exclaimed. “Screw me blind! Could there be Howlers or Firvulag in this country?”
They hurried back to the fire with the tubers. Madame used her farsensing metafunction to scan the area and professed to sense no exotic beings.
“It is doubtless some animal,” she said, “with prints that mimic those of children. A small bear, perhaps.”
“Bears were very rare during the early Pliocene,” Claude said. “More likely, ah, well. Whatever it is, it’s too small to do us any harm.”
Richard came back to the group and tucked map, note-plaque, and quadrant back into his pack. “We’re near as damn all,” he said. “If we really hump this afternoon, we might get there fairly early tomorrow.”
“Sit down and have some fish,” Martha said. “Doesn’t the aroma drive you wild? They say that salmon is just about the only fish that’s nutritionally complete enough to serve as a steady diet. Because it has fat as well as protein, you see.” She licked her lips, then gave a strangled squeak. “Don’t… turn… around.” Her eyes were wide. The rest of them were sitting on the side of the fire opposite her. “Right behind you there’s a wild rama.”
“No, Felice!” Claude hissed, as the athete’s muscles automatically tensed. “It’s harmless. Everybody turn very slowly.”
Martha said, “It’s carrying something.”
The little creature, its body covered with golden-tan fur, stood a short distance back among the trees, trembling noticeably but with an expression of what could only be called determination upon its face. It was about the size of a six-year-old child and had fully humanoid hands and feet. It carried two large warty fruits, greenish bronze streaked with dull orange. As the five travelers regarded it with astonishment, the ramapithecine stepped forward, placed the fruits on the ground, then drew back.
With infinite caution, Claude rose to his feet. The little ape backed up a few paces. Claude said softly, “Well, hullo there, Mrs Thing. We’re glad you could stop by for lunch. How’s the husband and kiddies? All well? A little hungry in this drought? I’m not surprised. Fruit is nice, but there’s nothing like a bit of protein and fat to keep body and soul together. And the mice and squirrels and locusts have mostly migrated into the upper valleys, haven’t they? Too bad you didn’t go along with them.”
He stooped and picked up the fruits. What were they? Melons? Some kind of papaya? He carried them back to the fire and took two of the larger salmon and wrapped them in an elephant-ear leaf. He put the fish down in the exact spot where the fruit had been and withdrew to his place by the fire.
The ramapithecus stared at the bundle. She reached out, touched a greasy fish-head, and put the finger into her mouth. Giving a low crooning call, she everted her upper lip.
Felice grinned back. She drew her dirk, hefted one of the fruits, and sliced it open. A mouth-watering sweet smell arose from the yellowish-pink flesh. Felice cut off a tiny slice and took a bite of it. “Yum!”
The rama clucked. She picked up the package of fish, everted her lips over her small teeth once again, and ran away into the trees.
Felice called out, “Give our regards to King Kong!”
“That was the damnedest thing,” Richard said. “Smart, aren’t they?”
“Our direct hominid ancestors.” Claude stirred up the tubers.
“We had them for servants in Finiah,” Martha said. “They were very gentle and cleanly little things. Timid, but they would work conscientiously at the tasks given them by torc wearers.”
“How were they cared for?” Claude asked, curious. “Like little people?”
“Not really.” Martha said. “They had a kind of barn adjacent to the house, where they lived in partitioned stalls, almost like the small cave rooms filled with straw. They were monogamous, you see, and each family had to have its own apartment. There were community areas, too, and dormitory nooks for the singletons. The childless adults worked for about twelve hours, then came home to eat and sleep. The mothers would care for their young for three years, and then put them in charge of ‘aunties’, old females who acted for all the world like schoolteachers. The aunties and other very old males and females played with the children and cared for them when the parents were absent. You could see that the parents were unhappy at having to leave the little ones, but the call of the torc couldn’t be denied. Still, the rama-keepers told me that the auntie system was a variant of one used by the creatures in the wild. It generally produced well-adjusted individuals. The Tanu have raised ramas in captivity for as long as they’ve lived on this planet.”