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But the cat walked by, his tail raised and a look of disdain on his face as
he disappeared through the door. Seeing the animal reminded Green of something
about which he was anxious. That was whether the natives kept dogs or not. He
hadn't seen any and thought that surely if there were some he'd have long ago
heard the noisy beasts. Undoubtedly, by now, he should have a whole pack of the
obnoxious monsters snarling at his heels.
Silently, he walked into the long single room with its high ceiling. From
thick rafters hung rolled-up curtains, which he supposed would be let down to
make a semi-private room for any families that wished it. From them also hung
vegetables, fruit and meat; chickens, rabbits, piglets, squirrels, hoober and
venison. There were no human parts, so he guessed that the flesh of man was not
so much a staple diet to these people as a food for religious purposes.
All he did know was that he would have to take some meat with him. He
gathered strips of dried hoober, rolled them into a ball and stuffed them in a
bag. Then he took down an iron-headed spear and a sharp steel knife from their
rack on the wall. Knife in belt and spear in hand, he went out the back door.
Outside, he stopped to listen to the far-off beating of drums and the
chanting of voices. There must be quite a celebration around the wreck.
"Good," he muttered to himself. "If they get drunk and pass out I'll have
time for what I want to do."
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Staying well within the shadows of the trees, he picked his way to the back
of the hut in which the prisoners were. From where he stood he could see that
there were only six old women--about all the island's economy could afford, he
supposed--and some ten infants, all toddlers. Most of these, once the excitement
caused by the noisy warriors had subsided with their leavetaking, had lain down
close to the fire and gone to sleep. The only one who might give real trouble,
aside from the guard, was a boy of ten, the one who was now tapping softly on
the drum. At first Green could not understand why he hadn't gone with the others
of his age to the wreck. But the empty stare and the unblinking way he looked
into the fire showed why. Green had no doubt that if he were to come close
enough to the lad, he'd see that the eyeballs were filmed over with white.
Blindness was nothing rare on this filthy planet.
Satisfied as to everybody's location, he crept to the back of the hut and
examined the walls. They were made of thick poles driven into the ground and
bound together with rope taken from a 'roller's rigging. There were plenty of
openings for him to look through, but it was so dark that he could see only the
vague outlines moving about.
He put his mouth to one of the holes and said softly, "Amra!"
Somebody gasped. A little girl began to cry but was quickly hushed up. Amra
answered, faint with joy.
"Alan! It can't be you!"
"I am not thy father's ghost!" he replied, and wondered at the same time
how he could manage to inject any levity at all into the midst of this desperate
situation. He was always doing it, Perhaps it was not the product of a true
humor but more like the giggle of a person who was embarrassed or under some
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other stress, more the result of hysteria than anything else, his particular
type of safety valve.
"Here's what I'm going to do," he said. "Listen carefully, then repeat it
after me so I'll know you have it down."
She had to hear it only once to give it back to him letter-perfect. He
nodded. "Good girl. I'm going now."
"Alan!"
"Yes?" he replied impatiently.
"If this doesn't work... if anything should happen to you... or me...
remember that I love you."
He sighed. Even in the midst of this the eternal feminine emerged.
"I love you, too. But that hasn't got much to do with this situation."
Before she could answer and waste more valuable time he slid away, crawling
on all fours around the corner of the hut. When he was where one more pace would
have brought him into view of the guard and the old crones, he stopped. All this
while he'd been counting the seconds. As soon as he'd clocked five
minutes--which he thought would never pass--he rose and stepped swiftly around
the corner, spear held in front of him.
The guard was drinking out of his mug with his eyes closed and his throat
exposed. He fell over with Green's spear plunged through his windpipe, just
above the breastbone. The mug fell onto his lap and gushed its amber and foam
over his legs.
Green withdrew the blade and whirled, ready to run upon anybody who started
to flee. But the old women were huddled on their knees around a large board on
which they were rolling some flour, cackling and talking shrilly. The blind boy
continued tapping, his open eyes glaring into the fire. Only one saw Green, a
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boy of about three. Thumb in mouth, he stared with great round eyes at this
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