by Transit
Now, we might as well collect the doctor’s fee.’ He began to pick up the remaining bird-cage fruit. ‘They aren’t any use to her. She’ll have enough of a problem getting herself back to base.’
By an elaborate system of signs, Avery indicated to the woman that he and Tom were about to depart and that she was free to make her way back to wherever she lived.
Finally, as an irrational afterthought, Avery pointed to himself and said: ‘Richard.’ Then he pointed to Tom and gave his name, too.
The woman seemed to comprehend. She touched herself, and said something that sounded like: ‘Zleetri.’ Her voice was hard, almost masculine.
Then, with a curiously shy smile, she placed two extended fingers on her forehead and briefly touched Avery’s forehead with the same two fingers. She turned to Tom, glanced momentarily at the debris of her crossbow, and again touched her forehead. But she did not attempt to repeat the gesture on his. Gripping the staff tighdy, she began to hobble away. She did not look back.
‘Exit golden girl,’ observed Tom, ‘slightly battered and with food for thought.’ He picked up Avery’s tomahawk and gave it to him. ‘Here, don’t forget the old life-preserver. I hope you feel better now we’ve done our good deed for the day.... Incidentally, I wouldn’t bank on her undying gratitude, if I were you. Those kind of people strike me as having short memories and long prejudices. You can tell from the way they react that they think they’re God’s chosen.’
Avery was not in the mood for argument. ‘I’m hungry,’ he said.
‘So am I. Let’s push off back to camp.... I’ll tell you another thing. When they hear about this, Mary and Barbara aren’t going to give any awards for gallantry. We have just helped to restore a potential enemy to active service.’
But Tom was wrong about Mary and Barbara. Regardless of what might or might not happen in the future, they both felt that Avery and Tom had taken the only course possible for civilized people. Instinctively, they knew it was important to maintain the basic ethics of civilization. And instinctively, they knew that, in the end, all worthwhile ethics could be reduced to that ancient principle: Do unto others....
That evening, there was a heated discussion on the incident—Barbara, Mary and Avery versus Tom. Eventually, Tom retired in a sulk.
His attitude puzzled Avery. Although he had not cared much for the idea of trying to help the golden woman— particularly since she had done her best to kill them both —he had certainly been of as much practical assistance as Avery, if not more. What made the matter even more puzzling was that Tom had been positively eager to help when, some time ago, the other woman (or perhaps it was the same one) had been in danger from the crocodile in the pool.
Avery wondered what had caused the change. Perhaps the incident at the pool was itself responsible. It had certainly shown both of them that the golden people were formidable specimens. Perhaps, then, logically, Tom’s present attitude was the right one—especially if it ever came to a question of open conflict between the two groups.
For then another principle would come into operation —more ancient than any ethical precept ever devised. A principle commonly known as Survival of the Fittest....
EIGHTEEN
For no reason that he could consciously appreciate, as time went by the desire to explore grew into an obsession with Avery. It started a few days after he and Tom had found the golden woman at ‘their’ bird-cage tree. Oddly —and inexplicably—at first he tried to ignore it. But as the days added themselves up into uneventful weeks, so the pressure grew, until it could be contained no longer. He wanted suddenly and impossibly to explore in all directions, to find out as much as he could about the world they were living on.
At night the two moons and the strange pattern of stars tantalized him. By day, he stared at the seaward horizon, or along the shore, or at the long green phal anxes of trees and bush as if he would force them to yield their secrets by sheer will-power.
There were plenty of ways in which he could rationalize the urge to explore. He told himself that he and Tom, Barbara and Mary were slowly sinking into an insidious and primitive lethargy, they were becoming too content with the simple (and infuriatingly satisfying) routines of existence. They had been thrust into a strange situation and they had adapted too readily. Camp Two represented security. Unless they made a conscious effort to extend their knowledge and their dominion, both would ultimately, inevitably, shrink. If they continued to exist in the same old way, they would get to know intimately the small area of territory in which they now operated. By contrast, the unknown tracts of land would be regarded as dangerous. In the end, they might even become tabu....
There were many arguments for exploration—all of them good ones, some of them even dramatic ones. But they were still rationalizations. The plain fact, he told himself moodily, was that he was getting bored with the so-called idyllic life. He was still infected with all the restlessness and discontent of an allegedly civilized mind.
He did not say anything to the others. They seemed happy enough and contented enough with what they already had. In the few months that they had been thrown together, there had been enough excitement, danger and minor crises to make them feel thankful for what they had managed to achieve. And it was certainly no mean achievement for four strangers to mould themselves into a fairly harmonious group.
Because he was busy repressing the thoughts that had begun to dominate him, Avery became taciturn and took to indulging in long solitary strolls when the others were bathing or just spending a lazy afternoon on the seashore. He always went armed on these expeditions, but fear of wild animals and the golden people had diminished. He was no longer the same person whom They had picked up, ill and flabby, one cold and dismal afternoon in another world of space and time. He was lean, weathered, muscular—and, he thought complacently, a fairly reasonable kind of hunting/fishing machine. He had despatched many animals that would formerly have sent him running; and had even wounded then ultimately finished off a small rhinotype by getting it groggy from a distance, then rushing in to tomahawk its head to a bloody pulp. Even Tom had not managed a rhinotype so far. Avery was proud of the distinction.
A solitary stroll, then, no longer seemed an abnormally hazardous venture. Being alone was a bitter-sweet pleasure for which his taste seemed to be growing.
Barbara was more aware of his inner turmoil than he suspected. She said little enough when he took himself off for long periods; but she charted the change in his moods and habits anxiously, trying vainly to persuade herself that his moodiness was an obscure variation on the theme of homesickness. They all suffered from it occasionally—but not nearly as much as they would have expected. There were times when they felt they would give anything to experience once again the sights and sounds of London. But the sensation would pass, and they would contrast the freedom of their new lives with the restrictions and frustrations of the old. And suddenly, the sunlight would seem brighter, and the sea utterly wonderful.
When she was not trying to cheat herself, Barbara knew that it was not homesickness that Avery was suffering from. And, in turn, she herself became subject to moods—fits of despondency, feelings of guilt and inadequacy.
There was a further complication to consider. Recently, she and Avery had begun to make love. Or at least they began to have sexual intercourse. Avery, inspired by the altogether beneficial change in Tom and Mary, and at the same time feeling that he was denying Barbara something that was hers by hereditary right, had made tentative—and awkward—overtures in the darkness of their tent. Barbara had responded with enthusiasm— perhaps too much enthusiasm—for though the mechanics of the operation were perfect, it proved sadly to be no more than that: a mechanical operation. Physical passion received its quietus, for a time. The body was fulfilled, but the soul remained strangely empty.
They had made ‘love’ not more than half a dozen times. It, too, had become a formula...
The storm broke one night when Avery felt impelled to
‘do his duty’ once again. He placed a hand on Barbara’s breast—the same hand, the same breast—and slipped an arm round her shoulder, thoughtfully taking care, as usual, not to entangle it with her hair. Next would come the first kiss, a hard empty kiss, then a fondling and a stroking of her arms and neck; and then....
Barbara could stand it no longer. She pushed him away. ‘Not tonight—please....’
He was surprised. ‘Is anything wrong?’ Even the gentleness of his voice was mechanical.
‘Yes, there’s a hell of a lot wrong,’ she sobbed bitterly. ‘Where are you? There’s a part of you that’s gone away, and I don’t know where it is. I only know that it isn’t here All that wants to make love to me is a body with a bloody, built-in, automatic, self-regulating social conscience.’
Her body shook with the intensity of her frustration. She hated Avery, she hated herself, she hated the words she had spoken; and, above all, she hated the treacherous, scalding tears.
Avery was appalled. ‘Barbara.... Dear Barbara,’ he said lamely. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Having started the scene, and loathing herself for it, Barbara was determined to fight it out to a finish.
‘What do you want?’ she demanded angrily. ‘What in God’s name do you want? If you want me to act like a harlot, I’ll do it. If you want me to pretend I’m a shy, cowering virgin, I’ll do my best. I’ll even crawl on all fours if it will make you happy But if I don’t know what you want, how—how can I ever hope to give it?’ Avery felt like a swine. Hell, he told himself savagely, I am a bloody swine—with megalomaniac tendencies....
‘What I want,’ he began, ‘it’s not what you can give me, Barbara.’
That made matters worse.
‘Goddammit, what do you want?’ she cried.
‘I want to find out,’ he said desperately. ‘I want to find out what sort of world we’ve been dumped on, why we’re here, what we can do about it I want to know.
I want to know something more....’
‘Is that all?’ She seemed to find it amusing. ‘You’re a liar! That’s only a diversion! You want Christine’s breast and Christine’s lips. You don’t want to find out anything at all. You just want to make love to a sad little ghost.... You’re only looking for excuses.’
That was when he struck her. It was the first time he had ever hit a woman in anger. As soon as he had done it, he hoped—he hoped with all his heart—it would be the last.
‘Tomorrow,’ he said coldly, trying to hide his shame, ‘tomorrow, I’m setting off to do a bit of exploration. I may be away two or three days. Perhaps by the time I get back ’
‘You’re not going alone,’ she said savagely. ‘That’s a standing order—delivered by the illustrious leader of the expedition. I’m going with you.... Now hit me again, and try to change my mind.’
‘Please yourself,’ snapped Avery. ‘I doubt whether I shall be much company.’
‘When were you ever?’ sighed Barbara. She felt empty. The anger had drained out of her. Only the frustration remained.
NINETEEN
They did not start until late in the morning. Tom held no brief for what he called ‘the exploring jaunt’. He voiced his objections loudly. What if they got lost? What if they ran into something they couldn’t handle? What if the golden people found out they had gone and decided, in view of the reduced garrison, to attack Camp Two?
Avery met all his objections stolidly. They wouldn’t get lost because they would stick to the coast. They wouldn’t run into anything they couldn’t handle, because they would take damn good care to avoid it. If the golden people had had it in mind to attack Camp Two, they could have found several perfectly good opportunities during the last few months; and anyway it was psychologically bad to let fear of attack dominate their lives all the time. It made for stagnation and withdrawal.
‘I think you’re a bloody nut case,’ said Tom with heat. ‘If you want to take risks, that’s up to you—but why you have to drag Barbara off on this damnfool jaunt is completely beyond me.’
‘I am not exactly dragging her with me,’ retorted Avery drily. ‘In fact, I’d be perfectly happy if she didn’t come.’
‘Well, I am coming, and that’s an end of it,’ snapped Barbara.
Tom looked at them both in bewilderment.
‘How long do you think you’ll be away?’
‘Can’t say. Perhaps three or four days.’
‘Not good enough,’ said Tom. ‘You must fix a definite limit. If you aren’t back by then, we’ll assume the worst and plan accordingly.’
‘In that case,’ said Avery, with sarcasm; ‘what would you propose to do?’
‘That’s our business,’ said Tom shortly. ‘But you can bet your boots we propose to stay alive.’
‘I hardly expected you to harbour the death-wish.’
‘No. It’s a damn good job it isn’t infectious,’ said Tom meaningly.
‘We’ll be back by the end of the fourth day, if that makes you feel any happier,’ said Avery.
Strangely enough, Mary, the most timid one, was not against the venture. She was, in many respects, much wiser than Tom; and she sensed that there was a great deal more to Avery’s obsession to find fresh woods and pastures new than was immediately apparent.
‘Look after yourselves,’ she said gently. ‘Maybe Richard is right. Maybe we are sinking into a rut----
Anyway, it should be exciting. We’ll have a party when you get back. It’s the best excuse that’s come up for a long time.’ She kissed Barbara on the cheek, then turned to Avery. ‘You’d better take special care of her, or I shall be really cross.’
‘I’ll do my best.’
Suddenly, Avery and Tom found themselves shaking hands.
‘If you find any gold mines, send me a telegram,’ said Tom.
Avery smiled. ‘If They drop by with a bunch of return tickets to Earth, tell them we’ll wait for the next ship.’
It was a hot morning. For some weeks it had seemed that the days were getting hotter and longer. Avery had formed a tentative theory that they had arrived on the planet in the winter season, and that it was now high summer. As he climbed down the ladder from Camp Two he was already sweating heavily. Maybe it would be a good idea to rest a little in the afternoon and save the main travelling spell until the relative cool of the evening.
His plan—if it could be dignified by such a name—was simply an extension of that one early and abortive attempt at exploration. He proposed to travel mainly along the coast—this time in the opposite direction— and, perhaps, on the way, make one or two sample probes inland. On the whole, travelling along the coast should be easier and faster than a long inland journey; and he also felt there would be less chance of being surprised by the golden people.
For obvious reasons, he and Barbara were travelling light. They took one of the large sleeping bags that They had provided, a couple of old whisky bottles that now did duty as water bottles, Avery’s pocket gas lighter (for which They had even provided refills), a packet of cigarettes—though both of them only smoked rarely—a first-aid kit and the standard equipment of hunting knives and tomahawks.
Tom had wanted them to take the gun, but Avery refused. He felt that since the garrison was being reduced, Camp Two should be left as secure as possible.
The ground they covered on the first morning, being nearer to camp, had already been gone over several times. It held no surprises. Avery, with the sleeping bag hanging in a neat roll over his shoulder, set a fast pace, as if he were impatient to get away from the known into the unknown. Barbara had difficulty keeping up with him. For the most part, they walked in silence.
After a couple of hours, they were both drenched in perspiration. The heat of the day had intensified, and even Avery felt that it would be far too tiring to attempt to walk through the afternoon.
They cut away from the shore and found a pleasant patch of grass, shaded by trees. While Barbara sank gratefully down on it, Avery went to collect fruit for l
unch.
They slept and dozed almost till sundown. They did not lie in each other’s arms. It was too hot for that and, besides, they were both still acutely conscious of what had happened the previous night.
The remainder of the fruit was finished off for the evening meal. They ate it as the sun, red and enormous, slipped smoothly over the edge of their world. The air had been still and heavy, but twilight brought an invigorating drift of coolness in from the sea. They went down to the shore, bathed their feet luxuriously and began to walk once more.
The coast rippled like a serpent. Sometimes, the shore disappeared and they had to find their way over small cliffs. Twice they had to wade across streams. But the going was not too difficult; and the twin moons, hanging in the sky like remote Hallowe’en lanterns, cast an entrancing silver haze over the land and the sea.
Presently the air became unnaturally clear, and the sky was shot through with stars. From being depressed, Avery was suddenly exhilarated to a pitch of ecstasy. He felt he had never seen so many stars. They were like fire crystals lining the black velvet pocket of the universe: they were like glow-worms in a celestial forest.
The ecstasy intensified. He was no longer conscious of fatigue. He was hardly conscious of walking. And Barbara had ceased to exist.
At least, she ceased to exist until, after several hours, she said quietly: ‘Sorry, Richard, I don’t think I can go on any longer.’
He looked at her, surprised. Not surprised that she was tired, but surprised that she was actually there with him. They were on a smooth strip of sand that seemed to be absolutely and geometrically straight, stretching before and behind them uatil it was lost in the darkness.
At the sound of Barbara’s voice, Avery felt oddly like a sleepwalker jerked out of his private dreamscape into a puzzling world of reality. He stood looking at her, almost without recognition. It was several seconds before he pulled himself together sufficiently to take in the meaning of what she had said.
