A Gun for Dinosaur and Other Imaginative Tales
- Автор: Де Камп Лайон Спрэг
- Год: 1969
- Язык: английский
- Год: Curtis Books
- Жанр: Научная фантастика
Электронная книга - «A Gun for Dinosaur and Other Imaginative Tales». Краткое содержание книги:
Moyang pointed to his little air-conditioner, humming away above their heads. "We'll spend our days asleep in our tent and work at night by searchlights. By the time your bureaucrats get around to putting Zhovacim on the reserved list, we'll have gone over the place like a vacuum cleaner."
Bertin said: "Look, Moyang. Cannot I make you understand the importance —"
"Importance of what? What's so remarkable about a lot of sheets of gold with ancient scratches on them?"
"They have — or so I hope — the whole history of the kingdom of Zhovac, for a thousand Kteremian years! Pre-Hrata history! Since Alphonse Klein deciphered the Hrata Picto-graphic script a few years ago, we can read a good part of the Zhovac writing, from which the Hrata Pictographic evolved."
"Who cares? If you like history, there is more Terran history alone, not to mention the other civilized planets, than anybody could read in a lifetime."
"But damn it, this is knowledge! If those sheets are melted —"
Moyang's voice rose also. "You educated people make me tired. None of you ever does an honest day's work. I don't mind your fooling around with your history and science and all those fool games, but when you interfere with a man who's trying to make a more or less honest living —"
Bertin's big red fists clenched. "Before I let some ignorant grippe-sou destroy those relics, I would —"
"You'd what?" said Moyang in a softly dangerous voice.
Bertin mastered his emotions. "Never mind. Let us talk of something more pleasant."
"Oh, sure. How about these Fshi?"
"What about them?"
"I've heard various rumors: that they're harmless and friendly, or that they're dangerous and treacherous. Which is right?"
Bertin shrugged. "As Kteremian primitives go, they are not bad fellows. It depends on how you stand with them."
"How do you mean?"
"Whether, that is, you acquire the status of a member of the in-group."
"The what?"
Moyang began to fear that he was in for a lecture. That was the trouble with people like Bertin. Ask a simple question, and you get a string of technical terms no plain man can understand.
The red man's manner subtly acquired a professorial tinge. "In anthropology and anthropoidology, we recognize the concept of the in-group and the out-group. A Fshi does not divide the animal kingdom into Kteremians, other native vertebrates, human beings, and so on. Or rather he does, but only in a rudimentary way. The important distinction for them is between a Fshi, which means a member of the in-group, 'one of us,' and a tuzatsha, which means any animal — any active organism — that is not a Fshi, including Terrans and members of other Kteremian tribes. And while the Fshi are quite upright and altruistic towards other Fshi, they regard all tuzatsha as more or less fair game."
"Then why haven't they speared and eaten you?" asked Peterson.
"Oh, they are not anthropophagous, nor are they actively hostile to all tuzatsha — only to those whom they fear, such as the carnivorous ftom, or their enemies the Znaci. I was describing their mental attitude. You will not have any serious difficulty with them, though right now they are a little noisy and boisterous."
"Why are they?" asked Moyang.
"They are preparing for their mating season." Bertin yawned. "Do you mind if I sleep now? I have just had one of the worst days of my life."
When Bertin was snoring, Moyang assigned watches to Peterson and Ma, saying: "Watch that he doesn't get his hands on a gun."
"Yeah," said Peterson. "You can't trust these fanatics."
Hadal was like other Kteremian villages except that, being too far from the Terran center of Sveho, it had not been touched by the exotic cultural radiation from that city and therefore was not contaminated by television aerials projecting from the roofs of the huts, rusty automobiles parked beside them, and Kteremians wearing grotesque imitations of earthly clothing over their feathery pelts.
Sounds of iron-working came from the smithy, and a pervasive smell of garbage and ordure from everywhere. The village seemed unduly crowded for its size. The Fshi had flowers and other ornaments bound to their heads, necks, and limbs.
The chief of Hadal, whom Bertin introduced as Vitse2, came out to meet them with an honor guard of spearmen and crossbowmen. Moyang noted Bertin's fluency in the use of the Fshi language. Its only imperfection was that the whistles (represented in transcription by numerals) were not so sharp and distinct as in the speech of native Kteremians. Bertin was hardly to be blamed, since he did not have the great pink Kteremian incisor teeth to whistle through.
Nevertheless, Moyang, who had always gotten along well enough with trade-pidgin and a smattering of the language group of which Fshi was a dialect, did not admire Bertin for his linguistic skill. It was the sort of accomplishment for which he had no use.
The fields around the village provided a break in the everlasting forest. A group of Fshi were going over one of these fields with rakes and a roller to smooth it off. Over the tops of the trees Moyang could see the mountain peak of Spatril. Two-thirds of the way up its slope, a slight discoloration turned out through his binoculars to be the ruins of Zhovacim.
Moyang felt his pulse rising with eagerness to be off and up. He could already imagine the jewels and gorgeous raiment with which he would deck his wives with the proceeds from his loot, for he was generous in family matters.
Protocol being satisfied, the honor guard broke ranks and, with the rest of the tribe, crowded around the newcomers to finger their equipment with their talons and to comment on the physiology and probable habits of the Terrans. Moyang, knowing better than to show impatience or resentment, stood the inspection until the Fshi wandered off about their own affairs. Then, in his own broken Fshi, Moyang asked the chief where he might pitch his tent.
Vitse2 designated a level spot and departed also. As the tent went up, Moyang remarked:
"Are they always dressed up like this?"
"No," replied Bertin. "They have gathered from the outlying huts for tonight's mating dance. That is why they are decorated."
"How long does this go on? I don't want to be kept awake all night."
"I fear you will be. They dance continuously until the mating tomorrow at noon. It is quite spectacular."
"If you're interested. Which do you think would be the better plan: to camp here and hike up the mountain every day to work, or to camp on the mountain?"
"Oh, you must certainly camp here. There is no water on Spatril, and you would have to haul it up every day."
Moyang asked: "What's the difference, whether we climb down the mountain every day and up again, or up and then down?"
"If you haul the water up you are fighting gravity; whereas, if you haul your loot down, gravity will be helping you."
Moyang rubbed his nearly beardless chin thoughtfully. "Still, all that gold would be pretty heavy."
Bertin winced. "No heavier than the water you would have to haul up. It is unbelievable, the way you evaporate water during summer in this region."
"Why couldn't we send the helpers down for the water?"
"Because they will soon estivate." Bertin swept a hand to indicate the surrounding jungle. "You can hardly believe the change that will take place in a few days. All these trees will be so many dry sticks, without a leaf anywhere. The Fshi will have erected a thorn-bush barricade around Hadal and gone to sleep. Then, with the coming of the first rain of autumn, they will awaken, and the females will give birth ... Are you sure you will not change your mind about this mad scheme?"