The Totems of Abydos

CHAPTER 11





Brenner watched the brush. He could hear movements within it. The hair rose on the back of his neck. He did not have the weapon. Rodriguez, a few moments ago, had taken it suddenly, seizing it up and hurrying down their backtrail. The Pons, those with the sled, and the others, and Brenner, had stopped.

“You seem apprehensive,” Brenner had said to Rodriguez, earlier in the morning.

Rodriguez had not responded.

“The forest is quiet,” Brenner had said.

“It is too quiet,” had said Rodriguez.

“I do not understand,” said Brenner.

“It should teem with life,” said Rodriguez, “but except for a handful of tiny things, some gits, some snakes, some fliers, and such, nothing.

“What is your explanation?” asked Brenner.

“It would seem that our reports on the indigenous fauna must be mistaken,” said Rodriguez.

“It would seem so,” said Brenner.

“There are other possible explanations, of course,” said Rodriguez.

Brenner regarded him.

“Our own passage, for example,” said Rodriguez.

Brenner nodded. They, and even the Pons, would be strangers here. The police, on various worlds, for example, in pursuing bandits, insurgents, and such, in jungles, often carried recordings of animal life with them, birdcalls, insect sounds, simian barkings, and such, indexed to the area and the time of day or night, which they broadcast in their search. In this fashion, their presence might not be belied to their quarry by any sudden or unexpected silencing of the local wildlife.

“It could very easily be our passage,” granted Brenner.

“We are not a large or formidable party,” said Rodriguez.

“There are several Pons with us,” said Brenner. To his annoyance, it seemed that Rodriguez was ready, characteristically, to overlook the Pons.

“The men of Company Station seldom, if ever, hunt in the forest, so it is not as if the animals would have learned to fear them.”

“True,” said Brenner.

“Even when we camp at night,” said Rodriguez, “it has seemed to be very quiet.”

“At such a time the animals would be expected to resume their normal behaviors?”

“After a few minutes, of course,” said Rodriguez. Brenner supposed that Rodriguez might know something about these matters. He had, after all, hunted on several worlds, on some of them professionally.

“Then clearly there must be very little animal life in the forest.

“That would seem so,” said Rodriguez.

“Yet,” said Brenner, “that contradicts the ecological surveys, sketchy as they are.”

“Exactly,” said Rodriguez.

“On the assumption that the reports, which seem clear and consistent, are correct, we are left with no alternative other than to assume that it is our presence which has frightened the animals.”

“Not necessarily,” said Rodriguez.

“I do not understand,” said Brenner.

“I do suspect that they are afraid,” said Rodriguez, “perhaps even very afraid.”

“It is strange that our presence could have so intimidating an effect,” said Brenner.

“It need not be our presence,” had said Rodriguez.



* * *



The movements in the brush were now closer.

Brenner wished he had some weapon, even a stick.

“You!” said Brenner, in relief, as Rodriguez broke through the brush, the brass barrel of the rifle in hand, disguised as an optical instrument.

Rodriguez was not in a good humor. He was covered with sweat. Small leaves and twigs clung here and there to his wet shirt. His face and arms were marked with scratches from brush. One cheek was bleeding. He had turned about, suddenly, and then, with a grunt, seized up the weapon and hurried down the backtrail. Now he was red-faced. He was breathing heavily. He stumbled, and regained his balance. He put one hand out, to steady himself. His paunch swayed. He is finished, thought Brenner. He is done. He is old. That brave animal, that irascible, uncompromising unique individual, that thing that dared to be different in a world of mediocrity and conformity, that hunter, that explorer, that soldier, that thing that lived by its own stars, that acute intellect, that heart of hearts is done. That body, insulted by age, withered in time, abused by Heimat and weed, is cargo now. He had been sent to Abydos to die. But he had come because he wanted to. There was something on Abydos about which he was curious, something he did not understand, something which might have to do with what he thought of as “the beginning.”

“Did you see anything?” asked Brenner.

“I had thought I did,” said Rodriguez.

“But not now?”

“No,” said Rodriguez, sitting down on the ground. “No.” He put the tube to one side. The Pons looked at it.

“We will rest for a time,” said Brenner to the Pons.

“It has been drifting with us,” said Rodriguez, “like a shark following a ship.”

“There is nothing,” said Brenner.

“It is always downwind.” said Rodriguez.

“There is nothing there,” said Brenner.

“It is the predator’s ambush,” said Rodriguez, absently.

“The shadows are subtle in the forest,” said Brenner. “There could be a mix of light and darkness, a movement of a branch, such things. It is easy to misinterpret such things.”

“You think that is what I have done?” asked Rodriguez.

“Yes,” said Brenner.

“Perhaps,” said Rodriguez.

“Certainly,” said Brenner.

“I do not think so,” said Rodriguez.

After a time the party rose up and continued its journey.

“Do you feel better now?” asked Brenner.

“Yes,” said Rodriguez.