Harry Turtledove - A Different Flesh

When he woke the next morning, he rol ed up his ' blanket and went over to wash in a creek that ran near the clearing. The water was bitterly cold; he shivered all the way back to his campfire, and stood grateful y in front of it until he was dry. No wonder sims did not bathe, he thought as he dressed. And this was still August, with the days hot and muggy. In another month, though, snow could start falling among the peaks of the Rockies, the ultimate source of his little stream. He would have to think about heading back to inhabited country soon, unless he wanted to spend a long, cold winter living with the sims.

"Not bloody likely," he said out loud. No trapper had a lot of use for his fellow humans, but Quick ached to spend ' a couple of days with good bouncy company in a bordello.

He was bored with his hand.

His next set of traps surrounded a clearing a few miles northwest of this one. The way was blazed, and to guide him if he got lost he had a sketch map and a list of landmarks he had made when he first scouted this territory.

Except for the ones he had given them, none of the places hereabouts had names. No other man, so far as he knew, g had seen them.

The behavior of the local sims certainly argued for that They had neither fled from him on his first

appearance nor attacked him on sight. Having no hostile memories to overcome made establishing himself much easier than it , would have been otherwise.

As if thinking of the sims had conjured them up, Quick heard a crashing in the undergrowth off to one side of him find the hoarse, excited cries of several males. They must leave been chasing something big, most likely a deer. They ae tireless trackers, and more skil ed even than an out orsman like Henry Quick. They had no guns with which il at a distance, but had to rely on thrown stones and Fars either tipped with fire-hardened wood or made from a knife, gained in trade, lashed to the end of a sapling.

The Sims' voices rose in a chorus of triumph. They Could eat well tonight, and for the next couple of days. buick's stomach rumbled. He was not so sure of a good meal himself. When he got to the clearing that formed the center for his next set of traps, he set down his pack and went out to do some hunting of his own.

He came back near sunset, seething with frustration beneath the calm shell he cultivated. The sims had had more luck than he. He was carrying a squirrel by the tail, bet there wasn't much meat on a squirrel. He made a fire, coated the squirrel with wet clay, and set it among the flames to bake.

When he thought it was done, he nudged it out of the fire with a stick and began breaking the now-hard clay with the hilt of his dagger.

The squirrel's fur and skin came away with the clay, leaving behind sweet, tender meat ready to eat. Quick, unfortunately, also remained quite ready to eat more and the squirrel was gone. Along with his trade goods, he had about ten pounds of dried, smoked buffalo meat in his pack. He worried every time he decided to gnaw on a strip, he might need it later. He was only a little hungry flow, he told himself severely. He turned his back on the pack, avoiding temptation.

A noise in the darkness beyond the edge of the clearing had ice darting up his back and made him forget his bel y.

He grabbed for his rifle, peering out to see what sort of t beast was prowling round his camp. Light came back red From wolves' eyes, green from those of a spearfang. Even with the gun in his hand, he shivered at the thought of confronting one of the great cats at night.

Try as he would, he saw nothing. A moment later, he l realized why. A male sim stepped into the flickering circle of light his campfire threw. Like the eyes of humans, sims' eyes did not reflect the light that reached them. The male came toward him slowly, deliberately. He saw it t was the one that had brought him the marten fur. It carried its knife in one hand, the hatchet he had traded it in the other.

Neither weapon was raised, and the sim showed no hostility. Still, Quick stayed wary. No sim had ever visited t him at night before.

He did not set aside his rifle until the sim put down what it carried.

Even then he had misgivings. Sims were stronger than people; if this one chose to grapple with him, he was in trouble.

But it had only freed its hands so it could use signs. You It give food, it signed, amplifying, Meat. You give to female. Yes, Quick agreed. I not eat fox, not want to, He hesitated. Hand-talk had no way to express waste; the concept was alien to the sim mind., put aside, he finished lamely.

Why not eat fox? Meat good, the sim signed, and the trapper's tight nerves finally eased a bit. Still, the male's next question took him by surprise: Hungry now? Yes, he signed again, with a rueful glance in the direction he had thrown the squirrel's smal bones.

Then he was surprised all over again, for the sim signed, You come with me to our fire, eat there.

Go there? he asked, not quite believing he had seen correctly. He had always made a point of staying away from at the clearing the sims used as their own. That was partly what with people he would have cal ed politeness, but more the simple desire not to draw unwelcome attention to himself. Wel , he seemed to have drawn attention, but not of the unwelcome sort

This wild band owned flint and steel now, fire

and the nary of the time when they had not been able to make it loomed large in sims' lives. Fire meant to this male what home meant to Henry Quick. come, he signed, stepping toward the sim. It picked up its weapons, signed Follow, and plunged the woods. Quick fol owed, as best he could. Again he ; reminded how wild sims perforce became masters of st craft. The sim glided along so quietly that he felt slow t and clumsy by comparison; sometimes only its lingering fir let him stay close to it. He suspected it could have gone er had it not been leading him. kinking on in front of his nose, a firefly made him Up. Other than that, the forest was impenetrably dark.

The sim pressed on with perfect confidence. Just when Quick was beginning to wonder if anything behind that confidence, he scented woodsmoke on the breeze. The sim must also have caught the smell, for it said no!", a breathy, throaty noise, the first sound it had made all night, and hurried ahead. A moment later, Quick smel ed charring meat along with the smoke. He hurried, and soon saw light ahead. The male hooted before it entered the clearing where its band was staying.

Answering calls came back to it. They made Henry Quick think of shouts heard on the breeze, with the words blown away but the sense, here, welcome, remaining. .

Quiet tell as the trapper stepped into the open area. With the male sims, it was a measuring sort of silence. Quick had entered most of the dozen or so of them as they and he hunted; he had traded tools for furs with more than half of them. Meeting them as a group, though, emphasized the Inferences between him and them as solitary contacts could not. The females and youngsters, on the other hand, had Wryer seen him before, except for the one to whom he'd given the fox carcass. Their stillness was more than a little fearful. But they were curious too. A child (for the life of him, Quick could find no better word, especially since young sims, like grown females, had a more human seemblance than did grown males) of perhaps seven came up to him. It touched his suede trousers and tunic, then looked up at him, the picture of puzzlement. Strange skin, it signed.

A couple of males growled warningly, and one hefted a stone as Quick stretched out his arm. Al he did, though, I was roll up the fringed sleeve of his tunic to show what lay beneath. No hair, he signed. That was not strictly true, but by sim standards he might as well have been bald. put on animal skins instead. Warm.