A Gun for Dinosaur and Other Imaginative Tales

Peterson repeated his remark, more loudly to penetrate the din, and did a little dance step of his own to illustrate his meaning.

Moyang asked: "What are all those animals tied up at the edge of the field?"

"They are for the blood," said Bertin. "What blood?"

"Why, although they are normally vegetarians, the male Kteremians require a drink of blood in order to be fertile."

"That so?" said Peterson. "It gives me a idea."

"Or, at least, so they believe. Nobody knows if it is true or a mere superstition."

Several Kteremians had left the dance and were doing things with the beasts. They had set out a big deep bowl. Two of them now hauled one animal, a svlek, up to the bowl and pulled its head out across the vessel. Another Fshi, whom

Moyang recognized by his ornaments as Vitse2, cut the creatures's throat with a copper knife so that the blood streamed into the bowl.

A retching noise beside him made Moyang turn. Ma, squeamish in such matters, was having trouble with his stomach. Moyang turned back to watch the spectacle. As the second beast was hauled forward, Moyang suddenly felt the powerful grip of taloned Kteremian hands upon his arms.

"Hey!" he cried, squirming in the grip. But, as they were a good deal bigger than he, it was impossible to break loose.

He had been seized from behind by two Fshi. Even before he turned his head, an outcry from his two companions told him that they had likewise been taken. Bertin and the native helpers from Sveho were also under constraint.

"Bertin!" yelled Moyang. "What's this?"

The red man calmly replied: "They are going to cut our throats as with the other beasts."

"What? Why? Do something! Talk to Vitse2!"

"You cannot talk to a Kteremian in rut."

"But what's the idea? They seemed friendly!"

"They are when not worked up by the ceremony. Now they regard us as tuzatsha and have no compunction about killing us."

A horrible suspicion entered Moyang's mind. "Did you know this was going to happen?" Bertin nodded.

"You mean you deliberately trapped us?"

"I had to."

"After we saved your life and everything?"

Bertin gave one of those colossal shrugs, as well as he could with his arms pinioned. "I am sorry, but it was either that or letting you destroy the historical records of Zhovacim. I tried to talk you out of that vandalism, but I could see you were determined."

The animals had now all been killed and one of the native helpers was hauled towards the bowl. Moyang screamed:

"You mean you're willing not only to have us killed but yourself as well? You lunatic! I should have shot you just now —"

Bertin smiled a melancholy little smile. "We should all be dead in another hundred years anyway, while knowledge goes on forever."

The first native helper's throat had now been cut and a second was on his protesting way to the bow. A knot of Fshi standing by the bowl seemed to be involved in some dispute. Finally the whole group turned and walked towards the victims, Vitse2 in the lead. The chief spoke in rumbling Fshi to Bertin, whose arms were released.

"What are they letting you go for?" shouted Moyang.

"They had a little dispute. The upshot was that they decided that because I spoke Fshi so well I must have the soul of a Fshi, and therefore I should be counted as a member of the in-group."

"But how about us?"

"Unfortunately you speak with what they consider a Znaci accent. The Znaci, as their hereditary enemies, are naturally members of the out-group."

"Did you know they were going to turn you loose, you treacherous devil?"

"No. Or rather I thought there was about a fifty-fifty chance that they would do so. It seemed a chance worth taking."

The supply of native helpers being exhausted, Ma was dragged off, protesting in a shrill singsong. Moyang said:

"Look, Bertin, get us out of this and I'll go away and never look at your damned city again ..."

Another shrug. "I am sorry, but I could not even if I wished."

Shouting hysterical curses, Moyang was dragged to the bowl. A taloned hand reached across from the far side of the vessel, grasped his hair, and pulled his head, face down, out over the pool of blood that had already been collected. The last thing that Ali Moyang saw was the staring and disheveled reflection of his own face in the scarlet surface.