Half Past Human (S.F. MASTERWORKS)

by T. J. Bass

  ‘Speed,’ said Moon. ‘That buckeye is in for a good workout.’

  Moon dropped back into the ditch, explaining. ‘That hunter will be awake and tracking for three or four days – on Speed. His body will be virtually torn to pieces by the exertion, but the drugs will mask it. That buckeye looks young – may not have been educated by one of the wise old stags – may not be able to shake off the hunter’s detector. If so, he’ll be in real trouble in a couple of days – especially if he gets arrow-shot. I’d like to— Say! There’s a coweye back here.’

  Toothpick interjected, ‘It is okay. She’s in the follicular phase.’

  Moses partially untangled himself from her arms and legs. ‘I know—’ he said sheepishly.

  Her dialect was fuzzy, but her motivations were easy to understand. She had an ovum waiting in a tense follicle and had selected young Moses to fertilize it. Her estrogen-flushed body responded to the presence of Moses – a sexually mature male. Homologous erectile tissue in her nasal septum swelled. She sneezed, and swelling backed up into her orbits giving her eyes a heavy-lidded, sleepy appearance. Capillary beds became engorged producing a maculopapular rash over her trunk. She kept one hand on Moses’ thigh and her lips on his shoulder while Moon and Toothpick tried to assess the situation.

  Moses was a little apprehensive too. One copulation apparently had done little to satisfy her. She wasn’t after orgasmic release – she wanted to be fertilized. And Moses wasn’t going anywhere until the golden corpus luteum freed him.

  He studied her – physically. The hand on his thigh was strong. She was perhaps a fraction of an inch taller than he – but it was difficult to judge with her pillowy head of hair. Her lower belly was marked by the striae of at least one previous pregnancy. Above those little scars was a rope belt and her nasty-looking wooden knife. And above that were a pair of breasts – flushed and mottled. Her bone and muscle alone intimidated him – for he was fresh from the hive. His own body just did not have the calcium or collagen to stand up against her if her wrath became aroused.

  His apprehension melted when she led them to her nest – a foxhole in the bank of the canal. It was lined with leaves and contained a sleeping, two-year-old female child. She offered them shellfish meat. Blinking and smiling, she dove into the canal for more. Old grumpy Moon smiled and played with the little kid when she awoke. The mother called Moses into the water and they gathered more food for the evening meal.

  With due consideration for his refractory interval, she nuzzled him repeatedly in the water – finally copulating again in the reedy waters on the opposite side of the canal.

  That night, as the lunar crescent reflected in the canal, Toothpick, Moon and Dan stretched out to sleep at a respectable distance from her nest. Privacy – a luxury as rare as love, since both disappear when crowding destroys the meaning of sexual signals.

  Moses curled up with her in the nest. She spent the night alternating between napping and pleasuring him.

  At dawn Moses was euphoric. Moon found him diving for their breakfast. The pile of shellfish was growing to banquet size.

  ‘You’d better leave a seed zone,’ said Moon jokingly.

  Obviously Moses had been sexually imprinted on the young coweye. It would be painful when the luteal phase came and drove them apart. Recent evolutionary adjustment had favored the females who mated briefly and traveled alone. Family groups attracted hunters. After fertilization the presence of a male would be a useless hazard.

  ‘I’ll be staying,’ Moses explained to Toothpick and Moon.

  She busied herself serving the men and feeding her child.

  ‘I know,’ said Moon simply. ‘We’ll move on. Remember to stay below the profile of the bank. You don’t want to attract hunters here with a two-year-old. See that ridge, about ten miles away. Toothpick tells me there is a lot of safe cover just on the other side. We’ll probably rest up there for a couple of weeks. If you change your mind – we’ll be there.’

  ‘I’m staying.’

  Moses put an arm around the little coweye and hugged her briefly.

  Ten days later he caught up with Moon and Dan in rough country. Dan wagged his tail three times.

  ‘She changed,’ Moses said, perplexed.

  Moon nodded. No comment was necessary. He had explained the hormone cycle before.

  ‘She was so in love. So tender. So soft – her mouth, her fingers – so soft.’

  Moses recalled Simple Willie’s mumbles about the most beautiful thing in the world. It must have been like this for him too – love.

  ‘But it wasn’t love,’ complained Moses. ‘Just hormones.’

  ‘Don’t say – just hormones, boy. That was the best kind of love – old, basic emotion. She wanted to have your kid with every molecule in her body. That’s how it is. You can’t sit down and reason out that kind of love.’

  ‘But why couldn’t she let me stay with her? I could help feed her and the kids – protect them – help with the childbirth—’

  Old Moon shrugged.

  ‘Maybe you could have – one day. But not now. The Big ES has no room for family units. Living alone is an adaptation against hunters – necessary for survival. Try to forget her – for now.’

  Fat Walter sat in Garage alone – his folds of belly and flank adipose tissue draped over a stool. Bird Dog IV was coming in. He observed the approach on the screen . . . worrying about the light, easy way the old craft maneuvered – almost effortlessly – as if it were carrying a very small load. When it set down he walked over through the dust and opened the chlorophyll-stained hatch. Dag was alone – thinner and wide-eyed. His helmet was missing, and the skin of his face was red and blistered. He struggled out of the seat and stumbled stiff-legged to the back of the cabin. Picking up a cubed trophy, he smiled weakly.

  ‘Got one! An old toothless female. I was on the trail of a nice young buck. Got one arrow into him, but he kept going . . . followed him for almost two days. Then she started stalking me. Dangerous too – had this mean-looking wooden knife. Here, you can add it to your teaching files. By the time I stopped her I couldn’t pick up the young buck’s trail again.’ He reached back into the cab. ‘She was wearing these beads. Odd, but I thought I saw a similar string on the kid too – same tribe or clan, I guess. Got some good optic records for you, too.’

  Dag Foringer gathered his gear and started to leave.

  ‘Took off your helmet?’ said Walter.

  Dag gingerly touched his blisters – nodding meekly.

  ‘Better have the white team look at it before you go.’

  Walter watched him leave. There had been no mention of the rest of the hunters who had gone out with him. The inside of the cab gave no clue – the usual rubbish and offal littered the corners.

  Walter patted the old machine.

  ‘Any idea where the other hunters are?’ he asked.

  Bird Dog IV turned an optic cataract on the HC chief and answered brokenly, ‘Put them down on buckeye spoor. Routine procedure. Covered eleven hundred miles. No sign. Their beacons are silent.’

  Walter might wonder – but Moon and Moses knew.

  To forget was easy in cow country. Other follicular phases crossed their path and delayed their travels. Flavors changed with the latitude. Hunters came and went – occasionally enjoying their Molecular Reward – occasionally they themselves becoming hunted. By winter Moses had covered over a thousand miles with old man Moon, Dan and Toothpick. Moses felt his body harden – skin, dark – soles, thick – endurance, strong. Toothpick sent him up trees and across canals frequently. They worked like a unit now, surviving.

  ‘Harvesters,’ alerted Toothpick.

  They had paused on the edge of a wide belt of moist, freshly turned synthesoil. Robot Harvesters moved along the opposite side, devouring grain – leaves, stalks and all. The line of Harvesters seemed endless – rising over one horizon, disappearing below the other. By dusk the reaped belt was more than ten miles wide. As dew dampened the crop, the robots
quieted – stopping for the night.

  Moon stepped out under the stars – testing the soil with his toes.

  ‘We’d better cross now,’ he decided. ‘We certainly can’t go around. If we wait for this grain belt to be replanted and grown, we’ll be too long in the open.’

  Grain offered little cover.

  The going was slow through the soft soil. The group passed between the line of Harvesters several hours later. Moses glanced up at the large dim optics.

  ‘Won’t their buckeye detector circuits pick us up?’

  ‘They only report what they’re ordered to report,’ reminded old Moon. ‘Besides, Toothpick eavesdrops on their usual wavelengths. We’ll know in plenty of time if a Hunt is being set up for us.’

  When they came to the firmer ground they began to trot through the uncut grain – feet hissing – leaves catching between their toes. Bright stars and a quarter lunar disc gave ample light. The scene seemed peaceful enough . . . until—

  ‘Hunters! Throw me,’ shouted Toothpick.

  They were coming up on a quiet orchard. The vine-covered trees were a solid black. Other smaller shapes were not trees – they were bowmen. Moon tossed Toothpick into the air. Dan leaped. Bowstrings hummed. Bright sparks danced from Toothpick’s point. Moses blinked – blinded. The sparks had bleached out his visual purple. As he waited for his night vision to return, he heard the sickening impact of an arrow against flesh. Toothpick crackled again. A stranger yelled and gasped from behind the trees. Moses felt a blinding pain in his head – knew only a drifting blackness – then felt a faceful of grain.

  Fearing the trophy knife, he fought his way to consciousness. His face was cold and sticky with blood. Time had passed. The eastern sky grew light. He heard nothing moving, so he sat up carefully. His head hurt, but he could see again.

  Moon lay curled around the feathered end of an arrow – a red arrow head protruded from his left lower ribcage in his back. His open eyes expressed puzzlement. He didn’t move.

  As Moses bent over the still form, Toothpick called, ‘Quick, pick me up. There are more hunters behind the trees.’

  Moses staggered toward the sound and found two bowmen near Toothpick. Smell of char filled the air. Two black holes marked their uniforms over the precordial areas. He picked up the cyber. The hunters did not move.

  ‘Over to your right. Let’s check them out,’ ordered Toothpick.

  Moses moved cautiously past the still bodies of Dan and another hunter. Several yards away he found the Huntercraft. Four more hunters were stretched out on bedrolls, enjoying MR.

  ‘They look harmless enough for now,’ said Toothpick. ‘Break their bows and try to find a medipack in the gear. Stay away from that Huntercraft – it’s a class ten.’

  Moses quickly returned to old Moon’s still form. He put a tentative hand on his neck and felt a fast pulse.

  The old eyes focused angrily.

  ‘Yes – I’m alive. Although I don’t know how. This damned arrow almost got me dead center. Have you got anything to cut off the barbs so I can pull it out? I can’t lie here forever.’

  Moses took a trophy knife from one of the cooling bodies and carefully sawed through the red arrow shaft behind Moon’s arm. The arrow grated irritatingly against a rib as he worked. Moon directed him to tie a length of roller bandage to the cut shaft. Then he began to coax out the feathered end. As he drew out the arrow, the bandage was pulled into the exit wound. He paused to let the woven fibers dampen, then pulled some more. When he had the arrow out, a length of bandage ran through the track. He tied the two ends of the bandage together.

  ‘I heal up real good if I don’t get infected,’ he remarked objectively. ‘This should keep the wound open until healing starts. Can’t risk an abscess.’

  He coughed. Toothpick noticed the red mucus bubble from the entrance wound in front.

  ‘Dan?’ said the old man, crawling to his dog.

  The dog’s golden teeth were locked into the throat of a hunter. A few inches of arrow protruded from the dog’s wide chest. It jerked rhythmically. Moon lifted Dan from the dead hunter and examined him. He patted the dog’s head. The tail did not move. Both hind legs were extended straight out – motionless, stiffly unnatural.

  ‘At least we know where the damn arrow head is,’ said old Moon sadly. ‘Got the cord.’ He sat petting the dog for a long time, then looked up. ‘Say, Moses – better get that scalp of yours sewn up. All that fresh air isn’t good for your skull.’

  Moon unrolled the medipack and cleaned the younger man’s scalp wound, freshening the edges roughly until they bled freely. Then he began to sew, talking as he worked.

  ‘Wish the Tinker of Tabulum was here. He could patch us up real good. He did these gold teeth for Dan and me.’ He grinned a metallic yellow, then glanced at Dan. The dog raised his eyebrows. ‘Lie down for a few minutes while I check out that Huntercraft.’

  He was gone for a long time, cursing loudly. When he returned Moses saw a bright pink stain on his left foot. The fate of the hunters on MR was obvious.

  Moon walked over to Dan. The feathered tip of the arrow still twitched.

  ‘Good dog,’ he said. ‘You killed the bastard.’

  He patted the dog’s head. The tail did not move, but Moses knew that it was wagging in higher centers. They rigged a travois for Dan and moved deeper into the orchard. Cramps doubled up Moon frequently. Dan’s legs remained paralyzed. That night they decided to split up.

  ‘Dan and I will have to hole up for a while,’ coughed old Moon. ‘Eppendorff, you’d just attract Hunters if you stayed around. Why don’t you take Toothpick, here, wherever he wants to go.’

  Moses was silent. The old man vomited up a small amount of black, granular mucus. He gently pulled two inches of the bandage through the wound. A spurt of similar cloudy goo drained from the anterior opening.

  ‘Rather have it draining out where I can see it. That way I know it isn’t pooling up inside and getting infected.’

  Moses felt helpless. Dan lay quietly on his side. A dry red line matted the fur on his neck and chest. The old man talked to the dog in a monotone broken by coughs.

  ‘Good dog. You killed the bastard. Want a drink, Dan?’

  He repeated the words over and over.

  Moses looked at Toothpick.

  ‘And I was supposed to protect him,’ Moses said sadly.

  ‘My error,’ said Toothpick. ‘These hunters had their communicators off – it was the end of their Hunt. But I should have been more cautious in any harvested area. I know that’s where bowmen usually are.’

  Moon scowled.

  ‘Forget it. They still came out second best. We’re alive and they’re dead.’ He added softly: ‘There were three trophies in the craft – freshly cubed. One was a kid.’ He turned and growled at Moses: ‘Get going. Take Toothpick out of here. You’ll have to help him complete his mission by yourself. Dan and I are going to need a long rest.’

  Moses backed off saying: ‘We’ll forage a bit.’

  Later he told the cyber: ‘We can’t just go off and let them die.’

  ‘That’s the way they want it,’ said Toothpick. ‘It won’t be an easy death for either of them. Dan’s cord is damaged. Even if that pulsation doesn’t mean heart or aorta damage – the spinal cord syndrome will get him. The paralysis itself is no problem, it is the bowel and bladder control. The poor dog will be soiling himself and getting kidney infections. Not a very warrior-type death for a fighting dog. And Moon is in no better shape with his wound. Looks like he has a tract through his stomach, pancreas and maybe other bowel. If peritonitis doesn’t get him he’ll just waste away with all his oral intake leaking out five different ways. No dignity there either. Neither of them would want us hovering over them – waiting for the end.’

  Young Moses was flustered: ‘I could run to one of the shaft cities for help. They’d send a team of Meditecks right out and—’

  ‘And suspend the lot of us. Dan and Moon don’t want to
end up hooked to one of their damned suspension machines.’

  Moses nodded. He knew that truculent old Moon would trade a few days of fresh air and sunshine for any number of years of vegetating in some underwater suspension coffin. He gathered up an armload of fruit and went back. Moon had hooked the travois on his shoulder and crawled into a stamen hedge row. Moses found them under a screen of branches covered with pollen.

  ‘Thanks for the fruit. This looks like a pretty safe place for now – low enough, and nothing to harvest. Let me check your scalp. Looks fine. Wash it whenever you can. Now get!’

  Moses gave him a wry smile – Moon did not like sentiment.

  ‘We’ll be traveling north-by-northeast,’ said Toothpick coldly. ‘Catch up if you can. Here – Moses, hand him my ten-centimeter butt. It will lead him to us if – when he gets on his feet again.’

  Moses traveled slowly for the next several months, looking back frequently. No one tried to catch up.

  His hatred for the four-toed hunters was more personal now. His body had hardened. He easily covered distances in a day that would have taken him a week during his first year on the Outside. He easily outdistanced the hunters, sleeping while Toothpick stood guard and taking sadistic pleasure in the hunters’ agonies as their skeletal muscles shredded with the continuous exertion. Several times he doubled back to witness the Molecular Reward – a placid, hallucinatory state. The hunters would be completely cut off from their environment, but Moses couldn’t quite bring himself to slit their throats. It would have been easy, and he could see why their mortality rate was so high.

  He moved through cooler lands now. Food was scarce. Toothpick kept the course straight on thirty degrees east of north. It was late autumn again – another year, another thousand miles.

  ‘Harvested as far as I can see,’ said Moses. ‘We’ll have to turn south if I’m going to eat again.’

  Toothpick ruminated.

  ‘We can foray into a shaft city if we’re quick about it. The doors are only class twelves. I’m a class six,’ said the cyber.