Gray daylight poured past the catwalk into the hold. Barch heard the hiss of rain. A moment passed. Then the barge rose, headed out into the rain. The little round men slid behind the sustenators. The Podruods spat and blew.
Looking up into the stormy sky, Barch glimpsed the black shuttle of traffic. The struts pressed hard into his aching bones as the raft slid up on a slant. Barch eased his gun into position; he saw Kerbol follow suit.
They were flying in the stream of traffic. Barch could see nameless faces, pale splotches, peering blankly out into the rain. He should have instructed Tick to steer free of the lanes.
The barge slid along at a steady pace. With a maddening sense of momentum and direction, Barch realized that Tick would obey him literally, fly to Gdoa. Rain slanted across the barge like strings of gray wool. Barch could see water trickling down the red skin of the Podruods. The spikes of black hair drooped, fell like seaweed over the bull-shoulders.
The raft above slid sharply away. Barch squinted up into the sodden sky. So far as he could see-clear. He pushed the gun into the hold. "Wait!" muttered Kerbol.
A crystal-domed raft came darting overhead, hesitated like a hummingbird at a flower. Barch saw the maroon of Bornghalese skin. He glanced anxiously back to the Podruods; Kerbol's voice had sounded loud in his ears-but no, the hissing rain would drown out sound. The Bornghalese raft darted away.
Barch leveled the gun, glanced at Kerbol. Kerbol nodded. Barch pressed the trigger button. The Podruods dropped, one toppled over the side. Barch slipped down into the hold, stood bent nearly double from cramp and bone-ache. He hobbled out into the rain, looked up.
A Podruod loomed over him like a tower, but his gaze was toward the stern. Attracted by Barch's movement he looked down, opened his cavernous mouth. Barch fired. The body toppled at him like a falling statue. Barch ducked back, the body crumpled on the deck.
Barch swung to observe the little round men. They stood like a row of pumpkins, little round eyes staring.
Barch climbed cautiously up on the catwalk. Kerbol was there already. He ran astern, took the Podruod serpent lashes. He peered over the side; the gigantic welter of Magarak pulsed, whirled, shuttled, gleamed. Barch decided against dumping the corpses: somewhere was the coordinator, the Magarak brain, fitting incoming data into patterns. Instead he slid the corpses into the hold, ran forward to the pilot dome. Tick was singing to himself in a peculiar falsetto whine, and at first paid Barch no head.
Barch rapped at the back of the narrow head. "Wake up."
Tick gave him a sad glance.
Barch went to the locator, reached under, snapped the chain as he had seen Tick do. "Now, how do you turn off the pointer light?"
"Push back the slide, break the bulb."
Barch did so. "Take us up into the clouds and head for home."
He went back aft, stood looking critically into the hold. The little fat men eyed him nervously. Barch growled under his breath. What to do with them? There was nothing he could do, except take them back to the cave.
He jumped down into the hold. "My name is Barch."
They looked at him solemnly. Barch said brusquely, "You're free men now; you're slaves no longer."
The little man closest to him asked anxiously, "How is this possible?"
"You have heard of the mountain where the wild men hide? That's where you're going now."
The little fat man shuffled nervously. "But why have you gone to such lengths for our benefit?"
"I haven't. I wanted a few of those sustenators. The only way I could get them was to steal the cargo. You happened to be aboard."
The entire group muttered together.
"Why do you want a sustenator?"
"Wait and see," said Barch shortly.
There was further muttering. "And what will become of us?" came the question.
Barch grinned in spite of his irritation; they were disarmingly like a dozen little porkers, fearful of the trip to the market. "That all depends on whether the Klau catch us again. Right now you're escaped slaves."
Again they muttered among themselves. One jumped up on the catwalk, ran to the pilot's dome. Barch followed curiously. The fat man looked in at the locator, glanced at the broken chain, then, ignoring Barch, ran briskly back to his fellows. Barch watched with puzzlement.
Kerbol muttered, "That's the worst about the Lenape; you can do nothing to their satisfaction."
Barch stared. "Are those Lenape?"
Kerbol grumbled and muttered.
Barch went slowly aft. He had visualized the Lenape as physically equivalent to their reputed mental ability.
In the hold the Lenape were talking heatedly all together; none heeded him. Where Barch before had imagined torpor in the opal eyes, now he thought to see depths of subtle wisdom. They noticed him; all fell silent. "You are Lenape?" asked Barch.
"We are Lenape."
"Then you understand something of how these things work?" Barch indicated the sustenators.
The Lenape seemed surprised, a ripple of expression passed around their faces. "Yes, of course."
"And if this barge broke down, you could fix it?"
There was a stir of amusement. "It depends a great deal on the extent of the damage, on the availability of replacement parts, tools."
Barch nodded. "Fine. Excellent."
They were passing over the sea and the mud-flats; the mountains of the Palamkum rose ahead, vague black objects swaddled and blurred in the mist.
Barch pointed. "That's your future home, until we convert a pair of barges to a spaceship and leave Magarak."
The Lenape listened blankly. The foremost said, "You think to fly space in a barge?"
"In two barges, face to face, welded together."
"Impossible."
Barch felt a sudden sinking of the diaphragm. "Why?"
"The Klau will never allow it."
"The Klau didn't allow me to steal this barge."
"The necessary components and accessories are numerous, hard to acquire."
"Like the sustenators? Like the two barges? Like the technical help? Like a secure place to work?"
"Exactly."
"All those we've got."
There was a moment's silence. Barch was the focus of a dozen curious stares. Then the first Lenape said, "A space voyage would be interminably long. The barges are insufficiently powered to generate second-order acceleration; you would float clumsily through first-order space, the deck pushing at your feet."
"Five years in space is no worse than five years on Magarak. At the end of five years we're home. And maybe you can work out some system to give us more speed."
The Lenape muttered nervously. "A grand concept. Is it practicable?"
Barch said angrily, "You don't act like you want to get home."
"No, no-Lenau is life to us!"
"A few months ago a dozen Lenape escaped Magarak."
"A simple affair for them; they merely bred a secret blister into the rind of the space-ship; that was all there was to it… None of this painful fitting and piecing and improving."
"Any fool can spear fish in a barrel." And Barch said in a disgusted voice, "Are you with me or not?"
The little round men muttered anxiously together, all speaking at once. Barch failed to understand how communication of any sort was possible.
The foremost turned up his face. "We will work with you; there is no alternative."
Barch nodded in grim jocularity. "I thought you'd come around. Pass up those corpses; I'll drop them over the side now."
The next day Barch carried the locator back to the table in the hall, checked Palkwarkz Ztvo to assure himself that the two barges in Big Hole showed no tattletale sparks.
The head Lenape, whose name Barch had been unable to pronounce and so had called him "Porridge," came into the hall carrying a sheet of parchment. He marched across the room, lay the sheet triumphantly before Barch. "This," he said, "represents the needs incident to any such project as you envision."
Barch stared at the meaningless symbols. "Is each one of these marks something you need?"
Porridge bounced up and down jubilantly. "Yes. If you remember, I was of the opinion yesterday that the project was unrealistic."
Barch said, "Let me have your pencil, or whatever it was you wrote with." Porridge handed him a flexible fiber. "Now, said Barch, "what is this?" He pointed.
Porridge brushed the first division with his finger. "Lavatory equipment, with spares. Shielded running lights, automatic pilot, and star-finder, communication equipment-"
Barch sat listening in annoyance. "Porridge," he said finally, "imagine us in space with nothing in the barge but the sustenator, which produces our food and water."
"Disagreeable," said Porridge.
"Would we survive?"
"The question of survival is not the point under discussion."
"Wrong. That's what I'm talking about. Every time I go out stealing things, I may or may not survive. And with me dead there's nobody else here with enough brains to get us off Magarak. So"-Barch scratched a cross through the first division-"out. Unnecessary. What is this?"
In a subdued voice Porridge said, "These are tools. Some I cannot translate, since they are very specialized. This is a hoist. This is a wire-splicer. These are various kinds of hammers, gauges, rotary buffers. All are quite necessary."
Barch sat back angrily. "What's wrong with you, Porridge? Do you think you're in a warehouse? We're out in the mountains. I thought Lenape were intelligent people. Why don't you ask for cushioned workbenches, automatic power-drills?"
"We did," said Porridge. "Right there."
Barch snorted. "You're worse than the Lekthwans-you've got yourselves in a mental rut; you can't think anything but what someone's thought for the last million years. Haven't you ever heard of the word improvise?" Porridge screwed up his face.
"Buffer-what do you want a buffer for? Forget it! Hammers? Use a rock. Hoist? Run a sling under that little Klau raft." Barch crumpled the parchment in disgust. "I'll tell you what you're going to get: welding equipment, deck plates, and fuel for the engines. We'll probably have another barge or two before we're done; you can strip it of any spare parts you need."
Porridge sat down heavily, kneaded his forehead. "You have a peculiar concept of comfortable space-travel."
"I'm not interested in comfort. Now you go back, start installing the sustenators, as many as the group of us will need. Also bring one down here, set it running; then we won't need to leave the cave for food, and we'll be safe from Klau hunters."
Porridge departed. Barch, looking after him, saw Tick come diffidently into the room. "Tick," called Barch, "come over here."
Tick sidled up to the bench without much enthusiasm. Barch looked into his long sallow face. "What's the trouble?"
"I feel the pressure of my time. I sense the odor of death. If I once more owned the charm of my destiny, I would be secure when all else dissolves in fire and ruin."
Barch said thoughtfully. "From one point of view-yes. But the charm is surely as effective in my possession as it is in yours. Now sit down, and tell me the best place to steal welding supplies."
Rain fell into Palkwarkz Ztvo, curtains and streamers gray as mourning crepe, hiding the twilight. The black mountain-side blurred and melted like dark sugar; black fronds pounded and dripped.
Barch, Tick and Kerbol had gone off in the raft an hour since. The Lenape sat grouped at the far table, muttering excitedly, tapping the table with fluttery little fingers, from time to time referring to calculations on a sheet of parchment. Lkandeli Szet, the sad-eyed musician in the embroidered black and green smock, sat drawing planget vibrations from his string-box; beside him squatted the Calbyssinians, blowing windy organ notes through their fingers; Chevrr, the hatchet-faced Splang, crouched as near to the fire as possible, mending a tear in his leggings; the light made moving pools of black along his deep-marked face. Flatface lay facedown on the bench while his women massaged his back; on the ground beside him a listless dice game was in progress. Only Pedratz displayed excitement, and this because he read omens in the fall of the dice.
Komeitk Lelianr came quietly into the hall. She crossed to the entrance, wound through the S-shaped crevice, stood looking out into the rain. Darkness was absolute; there was nothing visible but the hissing vibration.
She turned away from the entrance, looked around the hall. Two big tables, benches, shadowy walls, crackling fire. The plaintive sounds of Lkandeli Szet and the Calbyssinians. The smell of flesh and cooking and smoke. She closed her eyes. Outside were the dark mountains of Palkwarkz Ztvo and the black skies, heavy as an ocean. This was her place until dying-time, unless-
But suppose Roy were killed tonight? Then she might despair indeed-even though she had never permitted herself hope. But Roy Barch worked, Roy Barch effectuated, Roy Barch brought the possibility of escape within mental grasp. With Roy Barch dead, life became stagnant, squalid, with this cave her life and her death. Her eyes grew moist; it came before her mind, suddenly large, that only the optimism of Roy Barch made Palkwarkz Ztvo bearable… A curious race, the Earthers. Young, only a few years removed from savagery, contaminated by the past, correspondingly exuberant and direct.
She considered Barch's word dynamic. Odd that he should feel the essential characteristic of his culture so clearly. She wondered briefly about Earth: had the Klau infested it yet, as they had half a dozen other worlds? And what of Lekthwa? The longing grew too great, hope she could not allow herself; it would be self-torture even to encourage Roy. Hard on Roy, she thought. Roy gave the effort, the force; he was thanked by none. Barch, in the mind of the tribe, had become equivalent to hard work, when sitting beside the fire was easier, more pleasant.
An hour passed, during which the Lenape rose in a body, trooped into Clet's old chamber and carefully laid themselves down to sleep.
Another hour went. The fire flickered and lapsed to coals. Komeitk Lelinar started listlessly toward her quarters.
Footsteps scraped and thudded outside the cave; Barch stood swaying in the entrance. Tick pushed past him, crouched by the fire. Barch's eyes swept the cave. "Where is everybody?" His voice was hoarse.
Komeitk Lelianr said, "They've gone to bed."
"Bed!" Barch's voice cracked with emotion. "They go to bed while-" He stopped.
" Roy," said Komeitk Lelianr, "what's wrong with your arm?" Barch was clutching the region of his left side in a peculiar manner.
He came forward, sank down on a bench, said breathlessly to Tick, "Wake up the tribe. There's a barge outside. We've got to bury it in Big Hole."
" Roy," said Komeitk Lelianr. "Your arm…" She felt suddenly weak in the knees.
"My arm and Kerbol," said Barch, "both back on the mudflats." She saw he was crying, tears of grief and exhaustion. Carefully she pulled the bloody rags away from the stump, and went a little dizzy. Faces peered over her shoulder, dull masks with eyes and nostrils wide, aroused to morbid excitement.
Barch said weakly, "Don't stand here; get to work. Chevrr! Where's Chevrr?"
"Here." The hatchet-faced Splang came out of the shadows.
"You know what to do… Open up the wall, slide the barge in, close it up again. Take over for me; I'm all in."
The hall was empty, except for Barch and Komeitk Lelianr. Barch lay on the bench, talking at random. "We got it all in this load-tools, welding tape, welder, deck sheeting… There were Bornghalese on the dam. We waited to grab some lights, portable lights. They came running."
"Lie still, Roy. Lie quiet."
"My left hand hurts-in the palm-and I don't have a left hand. It's mixed up in the mud with Kerbol… Oh, what a sight…"
Komeitk Lelianr tried to remember Lekthwan medicine, but the oddments and theories had no immediate bearing on a stump of an arm.
Pfluga, Flatface's second woman, too fat for work, came wheezing in to build up the fire. She peered at the arm. "And what will you do?" she asked Komeitk Lelianr.
"I don't know."
Pfluga snorted. "There's only the one way." She thrust a heavy poker into the coals.
Barch fainted, and when the smell of burning flesh reached her nostrils, Komeitk Lelianr likewise fainted.
Pfluga snorted, sniffed, stirred the fire up under a pot of hot water. There would be calls for food and hot tea before the night was over.
Barch opened his eyes, reached out to pull himself to a sitting position, fumbled ineffectually with the air. He realized that he no longer had a left arm, propped himself awkwardly with his right. He looked at his bandage. Clean gray cloth. The stump ached, not unbearably.
Komeitk Lelianr knelt beside him with a bowl of gruel. "How do you feel?"
"As well as could be expected. What's been happening?"
"You've been sleeping for two days."
"And what's been happening?"
"Three sustenators are welded in place. Today the decking is being put down. Tomorrow-well-"
"Two days." Barch rubbed his chin. "Two days… Help me up."
"You'd better sit still."
"I've got to think."
"Can't you think where you are?"
"The Bornghalese saw us up along the dam. They know a barge is stolen, they know what's aboard. When the Brain finds out…"
A sensation like a cold draught played along Komeitk Lelianr's skin. She glanced uneasily toward the crevice.
Barch asked feverishly, "Have you checked the locator index for the Brain?"
"It's not listed as the Brain," said Komeitk Lelianr uncertainly.
"I can't understand why they wait so long," fretted Barch. "It's unnatural."
Komeitk Lelianr said soothingly, "Another few days and we should be ready to leave."
"We need fuel-accr. Tick calls it."
"But you can't go out stealing again."
"I'll have to. Who else will go?"
Komeitk Lelianr had no answer. After a while Barch struggled to his feet. "I don't know why I should be so weak."
Komeitk Lelianr took his elbow, steadied him. "You've lost a lot of blood."
Barch winced, closed his eyes as if to shut out a terrible vision. He muttered, "That rascal Tick, hiding, dodging, slinking. If he had stayed where I put him-" He wiped at his forehead. "Well it's in the past; Kerbol's gone. But he was loyal. Kerbol stood by his guns, even when he died for it."