But blood sign led in among them; he followed it and they stampeded again. He had trouble picking it up; when he did he found that it led into brush instead of following the herd. This made it easier and harder—easier because he no longer had to sort one spoor from many, harder because pushing through the brush was hard in itself and much more dangerous, since he must never forget that he himself was hunted as well as hunter, and lastly because the signs were so much harder to spot there. But it cheered him up, knowing that only a weakened animal would leave the herd and try to hide. He expected to find it down before long.
But the beast did not drop; it seemed to have a will to live as strong as his own. He followed it endlessly and was beginning to wonder what he would do if it grew dark before the buck gave up. He had to have that knife.
He suddenly saw that there were two spoors.
Something had stepped beside a fresh, split-hooved track of the little antelope; something had stepped on a drop of blood. Quivering, his subconscious “bush radar” at full power, Rod moved silently forward. He found new marks again…a man!
The print of a shod human foot—and so wild had he become that it gave him no feeling of relief; it made him more wary than ever.
Twenty minutes later he found them, the human and the buck. The buck was down, having died or perhaps been finished off by the second stalker. The human, whom Rod judged to be a boy somewhat younger and smaller than himself, was kneeling over it, slicing its belly open. Rod faded back into the bush. From there he watched and thought. The other hunter seemed much preoccupied with the kill…and that tree hung over the place where the butchering was going on—
A few minutes later Rod was again on a branch, without a knife but with a long thorn held in his teeth. He looked down, saw that his rival was almost under him, and transferred the thorn to his right hand. Then he waited.
The hunter below him laid the knife aside and bent to turn the carcass. Rod dropped.
He felt body armor which had been concealed by his victim’s shirt. Instantly he transferred his attention to the bare neck, pushing the thorn firmly against vertebrae. “Hold still or you’ve had it!”
The body under him suddenly quit struggling.
“That’s better,” Rod said approvingly. “Cry pax?”
No answer. Rod jabbed the thorn again. “I’m not playing games,” he said harshly. “I’m giving you one chance stay alive. Cry pax and mean it, and well both eat. Give me any trouble and you’ll never eat again. It doesn’t make the least difference.”
There was a moments hesitation, then a muffled voice said, “Pax.”
Keeping the thorn pressed against his prisoner’s neck, Rod reached out for the knife which had been used to gut the buck. It was, he saw, his own Lady Macbeth. He sheathed it, felt around under the body he rested on, found another where he expected it, pulled it and kept in his hand. He chucked away the thorn and stood up. “You can get up.”
The youngster got up and faced him sullenly. “Give me my knife.”
“Later…if you are a good boy.”
“I said ‘Pax.’”
“So you did. Turn around, I want to make sure you don’t have a gun on you.”
“I left—I’ve nothing but my knife. Give it to me.”
“Left it where?”
The kid did not answer. Rod said, “Okay, turn around,” and threatened with the borrowed knife. He was obeyed. Rod quickly patted all the likely hiding places, confirmed that the youngster was wearing armor under clothes and over the entire torso. Rod himself was dressed only in tan, scratches, torn and filthy shorts, and a few scars. “Don’t you find that junk pretty hot this weather?” he asked cheerfully. “Okay, you can turn around. Keep your distance.”
The youngster turned around, still with a very sour expression. “What’s your name, bud?”
“Uh, Jack.”
“Jack what? Mine’s Rod Walker.”
“Jack Daudet.”
“What school, Jack?”
“Ponce de Leon Institute.”
“Mine’s Patrick Henry High School.”
“Matson’s class?”
“The Deacon himself.”
“I’ve heard of him.” Jack seemed impressed.
“Who hasn’t? Look, let’s quit jawing; we’ll have the whole county around our ears. Let’s eat. You keep watch that way; I’ll keep watch behind you.”
“Then give me my knife. I need it to eat.”
“Not so fast. I’ll cut you off a hunk or two. Special Waldorf service.”
Rod continued the incision Jack had started, carried it on up and laid the hide back from the right shoulder, hacked off a couple of large chunks of lean. He tossed one to Jack, hunkered down and gnawed his own piece while keeping sharp lookout. “You keeping your eyes peeled?” he asked.
“Sure.”
Rod tore off a rubbery mouthful of warm meat. “Jack, how did they let a runt like you take the test? You aren’t old enough.”
“I’ll bet I’m as old as you are!”
“I doubt it.”
“Well… I’m qualified.”
“You don’t look it.”
“I’m here, I’m alive.”
Rod grinned. “You’ve made your point. I’ll shut up.” Once his portion was resting comfortably inside, Rod got up, split the skull and dug out the brains. “Want a handful?”
“Sure.”
Rod passed over a fair division of the dessert. Jack accepted it, hesitated, then blurted out, “Want some salt?”
“Salt! You’ve got salt?”
Jack appeared to regret the indiscretion. “Some. Go easy on it.”
Rod held out his handful. “Put some on. Whatever you can spare.”
Jack produced a pocket shaker from between shirt and armor, sprinkled a little on Rod’s portion, then shrugged and made it liberal. “Didn’t you bring salt along?”
“Me?” Rod answered, tearing his eyes from the mouthwatering sight. “Oh, sure! But—Well, I had an accident.” He decided that there was no use admitting that he had been caught off guard.
Jack put the shaker firmly out of sight. They munched quietly, each watching half their surroundings. After a while Rod said softly, “Jackal behind you, Jack.”
“Nothing else?”
“No. But it’s time we whacked up the meat and got out of here; we’re attracting attention. How much can you use?”
“Uh, a haunch and a chunk of liver. I can’t carry any more.”
“And you can’t eat more before it spoils, anyway.” Rod started butchering the hind quarters. He cut a slice of hide from the belly, used it to sling his share around his neck. “Well, so long, kid. Here’s your knife. Thanks for the salt.”
“Oh, that’s all right.”
“Tasted mighty good. Well, keep your eyes open.”
“Same to you. Good luck.”
Rod stood still. Then he said almost reluctantly, “Uh, Jack, you wouldn’t want to team up, would you?” He regretted it as soon as he said it, remembering how easily he had surprised the kid.
Jack chewed a lip. “Well… I don’t know.”
Rod felt affronted. “What’s the matter? Afraid of me?” Didn’t the kid see that Rod was doing him a favor?
“Oh, no! You’re all right, I guess.”
Rod had an unpleasant suspicion. “You think I’m trying to get a share of your salt, don’t you?”
“Huh? Not at all. Look, I’ll divvy some salt with you.”
“I wouldn’t touch it! I just thought—” Rod stopped. He had been thinking that they had both missed recall; it looked like a long pull.
“I didn’t mean to make you mad, Rod. You’re right. We ought to team.”
“Don’t put yourself out! I can get along.”
“I’ll bet you can. But let’s team up. Is it a deal?”
“Well… Shake.”
Once the contract was made Rod assumed leadership. There was no discussion; he simply did so and Jack let it stand. “You
lead off,” Rod ordered, “and I’ll cover our rear.”
“Okay. Where are we heading?”
“That high ground downstream. There are good trees there, better for all night than around here. I want us to have time to settle in before dark—so a quick sneak and no talking.”
Jack hesitated. “Okay. Are you dead set on spending the night in a tree?”
Rod curled his lip. “Want to spend it on the ground? How did you stay alive this long?”
“I spent a couple of nights in trees,” Jack answered mildly. “But I’ve got a better place now, maybe.”
“Huh? What sort?”
“A sort of a cave.”
Rod thought about it. Caves could be death traps. But the prospect of being able to stretch out swayed him. “Won’t hurt to look, if it’s not too far.”
“It’s not far.”
5
The Nova
JACK’S HIDEAWAY WAS IN A BLUFF OVERLOOKING THE STREAM by which Rod had been robbed. At this point the bluffs walled a pocket valley and the stream meandered between low banks cut in an alluvial field between the bluffs. The cave was formed by an overhang of limestone which roofed a room water-carved from shale in one bluff. The wall below it was too sheer to climb; the overhanging limestone protected it above and the stream curved in sharply almost to the foot of the bluff. The only way to reach it was to descend the bluff farther upstream to the field edging the creek, then make a climbing traverse of the shale bank where it was somewhat less steep just upstream of the cave.
They slanted cautiously up the shale, squeezed under an overhang at the top, and stepped out on a hard slaty floor. The room was open on one side and fairly long and deep, but it squeezed in to a waist-high crawl space; only at the edge was there room to stand up. Jack grabbed some gravel, threw it into the dark hole, waited with knife ready. “Nobody home, I guess.” They dropped to hands and knees, crawled inside. “How do you like it?”
“It’s swell…provided we stand watches. Something could come up the way we did. You’ve been lucky.”
“Maybe.” Jack felt around in the gloom, dragged out dry branches of thorn bush, blocked the pathway, jamming them under the overhang. “That’s my alarm.”
“It wouldn’t stop anything that got a whiff of you and really wanted to come in.”
“No. But I would wake up and let it have some rocks in the face. I keep a stack over there. I’ve got a couple of scare-flares, too.”
“I thought—Didn’t you say you had a gun?”
“I didn’t say, but I do. But I don’t believe in shooting when you can’t see.”
“It looks all right. In fact it looks good, I guess I did myself a favor when I teamed with you.” Rod looked around. “You’ve had a fire!”
“I’ve risked it a couple of times, in daylight. I get so tired of raw meat.”
Rod sighed deeply. “I know. Say, do you suppose?”
“It’s almost dark. I’ve never lighted one when it could show. How about roast liver for breakfast, instead? With salt?”
Rod’s mouth watered. “You’re right, Jack. I do want to get a drink before it is too dark, though. How about coming along and we cover each other?”
“No need. There’s a skin back there. Help yourself.”
Rod congratulated himself on having teamed with a perfect housekeeper. The skin was of a small animal, not identifiable when distended with water. Jack had scraped the hide but it was uncured and decidedly unsavory. Rod was not aware that the water tasted bad; he drank deeply, wiped his mouth with his hand and felt at peace.
They did not sleep at once, but sat in the dark and compared notes. Jack’s class had come through one day earlier, but with the same instructions. Jack agreed that recall was long overdue.
“I suppose I missed it while I was off my head,” Rod commented. “I don’t know how long I was foggy… I guess I didn’t miss dying by much.”
“That’s not it, Rod.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve been okay and keeping track of the time. There never was any recall.”
“You’re sure?”
“How could I miss? The siren can be heard for twenty kilometers, they use a smoke flare by day and a searchlight at night, and the law says they have to keep it up at least a week unless everybody returns…which certainly did not happen this time.”
“Maybe we are out of range. Matter of fact—well, I don’t know about you, but I’m lost. I admit it.”
“I’m not. I’m about four kilometers from where they let my class through; I could show you the spot. Rod, let’s face it; something has gone wrong. There is no way of telling how long we are going to be here.” Jack added quietly, “That’s why I thought it was a good idea to team.”
Rod chewed it over, decided it was time to haul out his theory. “Me, too.”
“Yes. Solo is actually safer, for a few days. But if we are stuck here indefinitely, then—”
“Not what I meant, Jack.”
“Huh?”
“Do you know what planet this is?”
“No. I’ve thought about it, of course. It has to be one of the new list and it is compatible with—”
“I know what one it is.”
“Huh? Which one?”
“It’s Earth. Terra herself.”
There was a long silence. At last Jack said, “Rod, are you all right? Are you still feverish?”
“I’m fine, now that I’ve got a full belly and a big drink of water. Look, Jack, I know it sounds silly, but you just listen and I’ll add it up. We’re on Earth and I think I know about where, too. I don’t think they meant to sound recall; they meant us to figure out where we are…and walk out. It’s a twist Deacon Matson would love.”
“But—”
“Keep quiet, can’t you? Yapping like a girl. Terrestrial planet, right?”
“Yes, but—”
“Stow it and let me talk. G-type star. Planetary rotation same as Earth.”
“But it’s not!”
“I made the same mistake. The first night I thought was a week long. But the truth was I was scared out of my skin and that made it seem endless. Now I know better. The rotation matches.”
“No, it doesn’t. My watch shows it to be about twenty-six hours.”
“You had better have your watch fixed when we get back. You banged it against a tree or something.”
“But—Oh, go ahead. Keep talking; it’s your tape.”
“You’ll see. Flora compatible. Fauna compatible. I know how they did it and why and where they put us. It’s an economy measure.”
“A what?”
“Economy. Too many people complaining about school taxes being too high. Of course, keeping an interstellar gate open is expensive and uranium doesn’t grow on trees. I see their point. But Deacon Matson says it is false economy. He says, sure, it’s expensive—but that the only thing more expensive than a properly trained explorer or pioneer leader is an improperly trained dead one.
“He told us after class one day,” Rod went on, “that the penny-pinchers wanted to run the practices and tests in selected areas on Earth, but the Deacon claims that the essence of survival in the Outlands is the skill to cope with the unknown. He said that if tests were held on Earth, the candidates would just study up on terrestrial environments. He said any Boy Scout could learn the six basic Earth environments and how to beat them out of books…but that it was criminal to call that survival training and then dump a man in an un-Earthly environment on his first professional assignment. He said that it was as ridiculous as just teaching a kid to play chess and then send him out to fight a duel.”
“He’s right,” Jack answered. “Commander Benboe talks the same way.”
“Sure he’s right. He swore that if they went ahead with this policy this would be the last year he would teach. But they pulled a gimmick on him.”
“How?”
“It’s a good one. What the Deacon forgot is that any environment is as unknown as any o
ther if you don’t have the slightest idea where you are. So they rigged it so that we could not know. First they shot us to Luna; the Moon gates are always open and that doesn’t cost anything extra. Of course that made us think we were in for a long jump. Besides, it confused us; we wouldn’t know we were being dumped back into the gravity field we had left—for that was what they did next; they shoved us back on Earth. Where? Africa, I’d say. I think they used the Luna Link to jump us to Witwatersrand Gate outside Johannesburg and there they were all set with a matched-in temporary link to drop us into the bush. Tshaka Memorial Park or some other primitive preserve, on a guess. Everything matches. A wide variety of antelope-type game, carnivores to feed on them—I’ve seen a couple of lions and—”
“You have?”
“Well, they will do for lions until I get a chance to skin one. But they threw in other dodges to confuse us, too. The sky would give the show away, particularly if we got a look at Luna. So they’ve hung an overcast over us. You can bet there are cloud generators not far away. Then they threw us one more curve. Were you warned against ‘stobor’?”
“Yes.”
“See any?”
“Well, I’m not sure what stobor are.”
“Neither am I. Nor any of us, I’ll bet. ‘Stobor’ is the bogeyman, chucked in to keep our pretty little heads busy. There aren’t any ‘stobor’ on Terra so naturally we must be somewhere else. Even a suspicious character like me would be misled by that. In fact, I was. I even picked out something I didn’t recognize and called it that, just as they meant me to do.”
“You make it sound logical, Rod.”
“Because it is logical. Once you realize that this is Earth—” He patted the floor of the cave. “—but that they have been trying to keep us from knowing it, everything falls into place. Now here is what we do. I was going to tackle it alone, as soon as I could—I haven’t been able to move around much on account of this bad arm—but I decided to take you along, before you got hurt. Here’s my plan. I think this is Africa, but it might be South America, or anywhere in the tropics. It does not matter, because we simply follow this creek downstream, keeping our eyes open because there really are hazards; you can get just as dead here as in the Outlands. It may take a week, or a month, but one day well come to a bridge. We’ll follow the road it serves until somebody happens along. Once in town we’ll check in with the authorities and get them to flip us home…and we get our solo test certificates. Simple.”