West of Eden

by Harry Harrison

  “As the Eistaa commands,” Kerrick said. Though he spoke with humble courtesy he was possessed of sudden excitement: his skin flushed and he trembled. He knew that he loathed the disgusting creatures. Yet he still longed to communicate with them.

  “You will speak, but not with those we brought back. They are dead. Build your strength. When the warm sun returns to the north we go there again for an even greater killing.”

  Kerrick signed supplication, wondering at his sudden disappointment.

  It was enough now to lie in the sun, to put the illness behind him as his strength returned. Many days passed before Akotolp sent for him. The fargi led the way to a part of the city he had never visited before, to a sealed and strangely familiar panel. It opened to reveal a still damp chamber.

  “It is a water entrance—just like the one in Inegban*!”

  Inlènu* wriggled her thick body in agreement. “Hurts the eyes.”

  “Then keep them shut, one of great stupidity.” Then he closed his own eyes quickly as the warm liquid washed over them.

  Akotolp turned from her work when they entered, reached out and pinched Kerrick’s flesh between her thumbs.

  “Good. You cover your ribs. You must exercise as well. That is the order I pass on to you from the Eistaa. She is most concerned that you will able to go north with the others.”

  “I hear and I obey.” Kerrick’s eyes were moving about the strange room as he talked, trying—and failing—to understand what he saw. “Once, in distant Inegban* I was in a place like this.”

  “You are wise in your stupidity. One laboratory is the same as another.”

  “Tell me what you do here, great one.”

  Akotolp smacked her lips and her fat flesh trembled with the strength of her feelings. “You wish me to tell you, creature of endless stupidity! Were you to live ten lifetimes you could not begin to understand. Since Yilanè first came from the sea we have had our science, and since that time it has been growing and maturing. Science is the knowledge of life itself, of seeing inside life, seeing the cells that form all life, seeing inside the cells to the genes, seeing the spiral there that can be cut and moved and changed until we are masters of all life. Have you understood a word that I have said, groveling and crawling one?”

  Kerrick signed groveling and crawling as he spoke. “Very little, she of endless knowledge, but enough to know that you are the master of life.”

  “That is true. At least you have intelligence enough to appreciate even if you cannot understand. Look in wonder at this creature.” Akotolp pushed one of her assistants aside and gestured at a knobbed and spiked, multicolored creature that squatted beside a transparent section of the wall. Bright sunlight shone against what appeared to be a great eye in its side. Disconcertingly, it had another eye in the top of its head. Akotolp signaled Kerrick forward, then wobbled with mirth at his reluctance.

  “You are afraid of it?”

  “Those eyes. . .”

  “They cannot see, stupid one. It is blind and senseless, the eyes modified for our use, lenses to bend light so we can see the unseen. Look here, on this transparent plate, what do you see?”

  “A drop of water?”

  “Amazing observation. Now watch when I place it into the sanduu.” Akotolp prodded with her thumb until an opening appeared in the sanduu’s side, then slipped the plate into it. She then squinted into the topmost eye, grunting to herself as she thumbed the sanduu with instructions. Satisfied, she straightened up and signaled Kerrick to her.

  “Close one eye. Look in here with the other. Tell me what you see.”

  He saw nothing. Just a blur of light. He blinked and moved his head—then saw them. Transparent creatures with rapidly moving tentacles. He could not understand it and turned to Akotolp for assistance. “I saw something, moving beasts, what were they?”

  “Animals, minute ones, there in the drop of water, their images magnified by the lenses. Do you know what I am talking about?”

  “No.”

  “Exactly. You will never learn. Your intelligence is equal to that of the other ustuzou behind you. Dismissed.”

  Kerrick turned and gasped when he saw the silent, bearded Tanu standing in the niche in the wall. Then he realized that it was only a stuffed and mounted animal. It meant nothing to him and he left quickly.

  Yet he felt strangely disturbed as he walked back, the sun warm on his shoulders, Inlnu* plodding patiently behind. In thought and speech he was Yilanè. In form he was ustuzou. Which meant he was neither one nor the other and he grew upset when he thought about it. He was Yilanè, that was what he was, there was no doubt about that.

  Unconsciously, as he told himself this over and over, his fingers pinched at his warm Tanu flesh.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  “The time has come for us to leave,” Stallan said. “It is here in the pictures, everything we need to know.”

  “Show me,” Vaintè said. Her aides and the fargi pressed close to see as well, but a gesture drove them back. Stallan passed the pictures over, one at a time, with a careful explanation of each.

  “These are the earliest, of the high valleys where the ustuzou usually winter. But this last winter the valleys remained frozen. The thaw did not come that brings them life during the rest of the year. Therefore the ustuzou must move south to find food.”

  South, away from the cold of their winter, Vaintè thought, just as we flee south from the frigid winters of Inegban*. She wiped this repugnant idea away as quickly as it had come. There was no connection between the two facts, could be no connection between Yilanè and ustuzou. It was just a matter of chance. What did matter was that the creatures would have to move south to find food. She spoke aloud.

  “South—where we can reach them.”

  “You see the future clearly, Eistaa. If they stay, then they die of starvation. If they do not stay, why, we will be there to greet them.”

  “When do we leave?”

  “Very soon. See here, and here. The large beasts that drag the poles and skins. They come down from the hills. There is grass, but still gray and dead after the winter. And the white, here in the hollows, that is hard water. They must come further south.”

  “They will. Are your preparations made?”

  “They are. Supplies gathered, the boats fed, the armed fargi are ready.”

  “See that they remain that way.”

  She dismissed Stallan, put the hunter from her mind instantly, addressed her thoughts instead to the coming campaign. They would be going far inland this time and would be away all of the summer. They could not carry enough food with them for this long a time—so should she arrange for resupply? Or live off the land? This would be easier—and every beast they killed and ate would be one less for the ustuzou. But there would also have to be a reserve of preserved meat so their progress would not be slowed. Everything must be considered. Prisoners must be taken as well. The raptor’s chance movements would find only a few of the ustuzou packs. But questioning the prisoners would lead them from one pack to another until they had all been destroyed. A fargi hurried over at her gesture.

  “Command Kerrick to attend me.”

  Her thoughts went to the coming campaign until she was aware of his presence before her.

  “Tell me of your health,” she ordered. “You are thinner than you used to be.”

  “I am, but the weakness has gone, the scars from the sores are healed. Each day I make this fat Inlènu* run with me to the fields. She loses weight, I gain it.”

  “We go north soon. You will go with us.”

  “As the Eistaa speaks, so do I obey.”

  He expressed this in the most formal manner when he left, revealing no other emotion. But the thoughts that churned beneath that calm exterior were quite different.

  He was eager to go—yet was afraid at the same time. Most of his memories of the last voyage north were buried beneath the pain of his sickness. It had been easiest when he was the sickest because then there had o
nly been unconsciousness with no memory of what had passed. But then had come the wakening days, the pains in his chest, the sores that covered his body. He knew that he should eat but he could not. He had been vaguely aware of the wasting away of his body, the close approach to death, but had been too weak to do anything about it. Only when the gradual and painful recovery had begun could he think of food again.

  But that was in the past—and must be kept in the past. Though he still grew tired by the end of the day, each day he was that slight bit stronger. It would be all right. He would go with them and there would be other ustuzou to talk to. For a long time he had not permitted his thoughts to dwell on this, but now a strange excitement filled him and he looked forward eagerly to the expedition. He would talk to Tanu again—and this time he would remember more of the words. There was a sudden and inexplicable excitement when he thought about talking with them and he walked faster, until Inlènu* registered patient protest.

  They started north a few days later, earlier than had been originally planned, for now they would be going slower. Vaintè wanted to see if they could supply their own meat as they went along. On the first day they traveled only until early afternoon before making a landing on a rocky shore. Stallan left at once with her best hunters, followed by a group of nervous fargi.

  They returned well before dark, the fargi now burdened with the carcasses of deer. Kerrick looked on with strange excitement as they came up and placed the deer carefully before the Eistaa.

  “This is good, very good,” she said with pleasure. “You are truly named, Stallan, for you are a hunter without peer.”

  Hunter. Kerrick had never considered the significance of the name. Hunter. To enter the forest, move stealthily across the plain, to make the kill.

  “I would like to hunt too, Stallan,” he said, almost thinking aloud. He bent to pick up a hèsotsan that lay nearby, but Stallan kicked it roughly away with her foot. The rejection was cruel and sharp.

  “Ustuzou are killed with hèsotsan, they get no closer than that.”

  Kerrick recoiled. He had not been thinking of the weapons, just the chase. While he was shaping a reply Vaintè spoke first.

  “Is your memory so short, Stallan, that you have forgotten that it is I who give the orders? Give Kerrick your own weapon. Explain to the ustuzou how it functions.”

  Stallan stiffened into immobility at the strength of the command. Vaintè did not change her final imperative position. It was important that all Yilanè, even of Stallan’s rank, be reminded that she alone was Eistaa. And it pleased her to pit these two against each other, since their hatred of each for the other was so great.

  Stallan could only obey. The fargi pushed close as they always did when something was being explained, while Stallan reluctantly held out the weapon to Kerrick.

  “This creature is hèsotsan, developed and bred to be a weapon.” Kerrick gingerly took the cool dark length in his hands and followed the indicating thumb. “They are mobile when young, only changing their form when they get their full growth. The legs become vestigial, the spine stiffens until the creature looks like this. It must be fed or it will die. This is the mouth,” she indicated a black-lipped opening, “not to be confused with this orifice where the darts are inserted. The darts are picked from the bushes and dried—do not move your hand!”

  Stallan tore the weapon from Kerrick’s grasp and held it while she fought to control her temper. The presence of the Eistaa behind her just made this possible. Had they been alone she would have smashed the ustuzou to the ground. Her voice was even hoarser when she spoke again.

  “This weapon kills. To do this you squeeze its body with one hand, here where your hand was, then press here on the base with the thumb of your other hand.”

  There was a sharp cracking sound and a dart hissed harmlessly out into the sea.

  “The darts are inserted here. When the hèsotsan receives the impulse it produces a small quantity of a secretion which explodes into steam, driving the dart out forcibly. When they are loaded the darts are harmless to handle. But as it moves through the projection tube the dart brushes against a gland that secretes a poison so strong that a drop too small to see will instantly kill a creature as large as a nenitesk.”

  “You make an excellent teacher,” Vaintè said, a sharp edge of amusement adding a second meaning. “You may stop now.”

  Stallan thrust the hèsotsan at Kerrick and turned quickly about. But not so quickly that he could not see the burning hatred in her movements. He returned the emotion in full. But he quickly forgot the incident as he examined the weapon, eager to try it on the hunt. But not so eager that he would allow Stallan anywhere near him when they were out of sight of the others. It would be wise to always stay well away from the hunter now, particularly during the hunt. The poisoned darts could kill him as easily as any other animal.

  When it was time for the hunt next day he did go out with his weapon until he saw which way Stallan and the others had gone—then he went in the opposite direction. He had no desire to be the victim of a fatal accident.

  Hunting was not easy with the clumsy Inlènu* in tow, but he did as well as he could. He had some success and in the coming days Inlènu* carried more than one deer back to the beach. But more important than the deer themselves was the way he felt when stalking his prey through the high grass. It was a pleasure beyond pleasure. He did not notice when he grew tired: his appetite was ravenous and he slept well. The hunting continued as they moved slowly north, and every day he found that he could do that little bit more. By the time they left the ocean and started up the wide river he felt as strong as he ever had. It was only a few days after that when they had their first battle, their first massacre of the summer.

  Kerrick stayed at his usual place in the encampment on the river bank when the others left. The raptor’s pictures had shown that the ustuzou were moving in this direction along the river bank, so the ambush had been carefully laid. It was no affair of Kerrick’s. He sat cross-legged on the ground and teased the hèsotsan’s mouth open with his fingernail, then pushed a fragment of meat into it, thinking of the next hunt. Inlènu* was so noisy. But at least she had learned to be motionless and quiet when they stopped. He would do a wide circle around the next herd of deer that they found, then lie in wait downwind from them. The deer would move away from the other hunters and approach him—instead of the other way around. It was a good plan.

  The distant shriek cut through his thoughts. Even Inlènu* stirred herself and looked around. It sounded again, louder, closer. Kerrick jumped to his feet, the weapon in both hands ready to fire as the cry came again, the sound of heavy thudding.

  There was a harsh bellow from the bank above them and a great head appeared. Long white tusks, a lifted trunk, the deafening shriek again.

  “Kill the ustuzou,” Inlènu* pleaded. “Kill, kill!”

  Kerrick had the hèsotsan in a line before his eyes, looking along it at the creature’s dark eye glaring down at him.

  “Karu . . .” he said, and did not fire. Inlènu* moaned in fear.

  The mastodon lifted its trunk and bellowed again. Then turned and vanished from sight.

  Karu. Why had he said that? What did it mean? He had been startled by the giant creature—but not afraid at all. That strange word, Karu, it stirred up mixed memories. Warm and friendly. Cold as death. He trembled and pushed them away. The fighting should be very close. The large, hairy beast must have been frightened by the battle, had run this way. He was glad that he had not killed it.

  “The Eistaa sends for one by the name of Kerrick,” the fargi said, moving slowly along the river bank. She had been wounded by some sharp object and a large bandage covered her lower arm. There was blood on her side and streaked down her leg.

  “Wash yourself clean,” Kerrick ordered, then gave a tug on his lead and Inlènu* lumbered to her feet. The hèsotsan had finished the bit of meat and he smoothed its mouth shut as they walked; it had tiny, sharp teeth and could give a nasty
little bite if this were not done.

  They followed the river bank, then turned away from it when they came to a well-trampled path. More wounded fargi passed them going in the opposite direction. Some of them had stopped; others were sprawled on the ground, too weak to go any further. They passed one of them that had died on the way, eyes wide and mouth gaping. The fighting must have been fierce.

  Then Kerrick saw his first dead Tanu. They were heaped together, men and women, children’s tiny corpses tossed aside. Beyond them a mastodon, dead among the broken poles, its load burst and scattered.

  Kerrick was numb, with an emotion—or lack of emotion—that left him stumbling along in silence. These were ustuzou, they needed killing. These were Tanu—why were they dead? These were the loathsome ustuzou that had slaughtered the Yilanè males and the young on the beaches. But what did he really care or know about that? He had never even been close to the beaches.

  A fargi, the spear that had killed it still through her body, lay in bloody embrace over the body of the hunter who had wielded it. The fargi was Yilanè and he, Kerrick, he was Yilanè as well.

  But, no, he was Tanu. Was he Tanu too?

  The question could not be answered, but could not be forgotten as well. Yet he must forget it then and remember that he had been a boy—but that boy was dead. In order to live he must live as a Yilanè. He was Yilanè, not dirty ustuzou.

  A fargi pulled at his arm and he stumbled after her. Through the column of death; dead Tanu, mastodons, Yilanè. It could not bear looking at. They came to a group of armed fargi who moved aside so that Kerrick could pass. Vaintè stood there, every movement of her body expressing unconcealed anger. When she saw Kerrick she pointed soundlessly at the object on the ground before her. It was an animal’s skin, badly tanned and mottled, limp and shapeless except for the head that had been stuffed.

  Kerrick recoiled in horror. Not an animal—a Yilanè, and one that he recognized. Sòkain, the surveyor who had been killed by the ustuzou. Killed, skinned, and brought here.