Harry Turtledove - A Different Flesh

Through the winter, Martin stayed atop the hierarchy.

only was he in his physical prime, but he also enjoyed dded prestige the success of Quick's devices brought The band had fared well in what was usually a time ivation, and the sims recognized that and gave credit fist did, at any rate. Like humans, some were unwilling do anything for which they were not responsible. Three or four males, of middling to fairly high Shin the hunting party, began hanging around toer. They had been the last ones to start using the bow.

If sims, that was plenty to settle things. Martin would tun uli his back and swagger away, satisfied he was still cock o' the walk.

Henry Quick shared the big male's exuberance, but aS to a point. He could not help noticing that the members , the hunting party who backed Martin were nowhere near so closely knit as Caesar's followers.

Caesar by himself was no match for Martin; Caesar and several comrades probaij were.

Rain came more and more often. Black patches of dirt began to appear. The evergreens lost their white mantle while buds grew on branches bare for months. Quick the geese crying far overhead, and on clear days saw V's of black, specks flying north against the blue sky.

He wondered, as he had once in a while through winter, if anyone missed him back in the Commonwealth Trapping was a risky business, and every year many tried it never came back. If he did return to civilization he would be a nine days' wonder. Was that reason enough make the trip? He doubted it. He also doubted whether he could finish his life among the sims, even loving one. For better or worse, he and they were different. Unable to decide what to do, he let day follow day, hoping events would solve his problem for him. He got strong with his stick, he was not much slower or more awkward than an old man. He could even hobble a couple of steps without it, though his left leg had to take almost al of the weight.

With that success, he began thinking hard about what travel would mean.

The idea of depending on archery to feed himself was appal ing. His powderhorn was stil half full. He had done his best to keep rifle and pistol dry through the winter, greased them with animal fat, and used dirt and gravel to scour away the rust that did appear. He began substituting the rifle for his stick. The extra weight t tired him, but he managed. He hated to burn powder and waste bullets on test shots but he would sooner find out whether his guns worked in practise, where his life did not depend on the answer. When he loaded them, he pointed the pistol into the air. Big noise, he signed, warning the females Youngsters in the clearing.

Noise-stick Sol amplified. The sims had learned the year that Quick carried noisy weapons that could slay at tance. Few except the hunting males, though, had hem. Of course, the trapper thought as he squeezed bigger they might not hear one now.

He felt Pike cheering when the gun went off. The recoil was easier to take than he'd expected, easier even than he rembered; his arms had become very strong from bearing so much of his weight through his crutches.

sims shrieked. Some clapped hands to ears. Young ran to their mothers. "Big noise" was easier to say than erience. Even Sol jumped, though she recovered y. Noise-stich good? she signed.

Good, Quick answered. He fired the rifle. It also worked and almost knocked him over. The report was louder he pistol shot had been, but the sims did not make such a fuss over it, this time they knew what he was doing.

After he reloaded both guns. If he did decide to leave, they would make al the difference in the world.

The females and youngsters had a great deal to tell the when the hunting party returned. Hands fluttered, in their excitement the sims hooted and yelled to add asis to their gestures.

After the commotion died down, Martin came over to Quick. He asked the same question Sol had: Noise good?

The trapper agreed they were.

Hunt with us? the sim asked.

Too slow, not keep up Martin rubbed his jaw. He could not disagree with thank him at length he signed, Give me noise-stick.

Quick had expected something of the sort. you not work -stick, he signed. To make sure he was not lying, he had surreptitiously removed the flints from his guns when the females were carrying on. He did not sign why.

Martin took the pistol away from him. The sim knew what the trigger was for, but only a click rewarded him when he pul ed it. He tried the rifle, with the same result.

Growling in frustration, he shoved them back at Quick and stalked away.

The trapper made sure the sim was not looking before he restored the flints to their places;

The next morning, most of the hunting party set of early, as they usually did. Martin hung back. He walked a and down examining the windbreak, plainly trying decide whether it was time to turn it into firewood. Of Caesar and two members of his clique also stayed behind. As far as Quick could see, they were not doit anything in particular. He practiced his walking, limping along leaning his right side on his rifle and carrying his pistol in his left. The morning was humid, so his leg hurt more than usual. When Martin turned away from the windbreak and spotted the other males still in the clearing, he shouting angrily at them. Go! Hunt!

he signed, his gestures quick and peremptory. He was still wearing the makeshift belly Quick had made for him from a bootlace. He yanked free the dagger, waved it in the air. Quick expected Caesar and his Followers to go meekly at their way, as they always had before. They did not. Maybe they had planned it among themselves, maybe they simply noticed they were three to Martin's one. They held their ground and yelled back. Instantly pandemonium fil ed the clearing Several males ran to Martin and added their yells to his. Almost as, many, though, backed Caesar and his two comrades. Quick stood off to one side and wished his hands were free so he could cover his ears. Sol, he thought, would have favored Martin, but she was already off in the woods.

The two groups of sims, still shrieking, drew closer ton each other.

Caesar, perhaps given courage by the males at his back, did not shrink as Martin approached. Instead he decided to confront Martin, windmil ing his arms and yelling as loudly as his opponent. The encounter was at a level too basic for either of them to bother with signs; their responses were what counted now.

Just the same, the quarrel might have ended peaceably, or with no more than pushes and shoves. Most incidents among sims did. But when Martin reached out to push him away, he stil had the sharp steel dagger in his fisted a dripping line ran down the other sims chest.

caesar shrieked again, a cry full of pain, surprise, and Martin might have finished him at that moment, but had stared for an instant, as much taken aback as his foe, at the blood running through Caesar's hair. An instant was all Marrtin got. Fast as a striking snake, Caesar bent down, grabbed a branch, and slammed it into the dominant male's side then he sprang for Martin. They fel together, biting gouging and kicking.

Quick had not thought the din could get louder and he was wrong.

The sims gathered in a tight knot about the two battling males.

They were all screaming at the top of their lungs, and beginning to struggle with one of Caesar's supporting males also had a knife. He had a female aside, almost pitching her into the fire, anded over the two main combatants. He slashed at one of them, presumably Martin. An anguished bellow arose, loud enough to be heard through the chaos all around.

Qulick limped forward. That Martin had to fight for his rank was one thing, that he should be beset by two at once thing else again. The male was raising an arm to bring down the dagger again. The trapper shifted his weight to his left foot; that leg would have to bear most of fire a moment.