The inhabitants watched in awe, some shrinking back, as the three newcomers were brought down to the cluster of huts and shelters. Keene and the others were shown prized trophies that included some implements carved from wood, a metal jerry can now used to hold water, and a number of garments reworked from recognizable pieces of clothing that had seen better days. They were given morsels of meat and a vegetable preparation to sample—as it turned out, not too bad. Keene caught Naarmegen’s eye, conveying that they ought to reciprocate, and inviting suggestions. After a moment of pondering, Naarmegen unclipped the sheath and knife from his belt, and passed it to Keene, who with great ceremony making it plain to all that this was a great honor, presented it to the Leader—whose name they had established by this time, was Rakki. The watchers were suitably impressed. Rakki, whose status had thus been acknowledged before all, beamed his delight, attaching the sheath to his own belt and permitting his clan to come forward and touch the blade wonderingly. To show his magnanimity in return, he made signs that the rest of Keene’s party could bring the Scout down to the settlement. His settlement. Rakki’s.
As soon as Keene got a moment he raised his compad and called Ivor, who was still in the truck. “Was that you who did that?”
“It was. You needed a miracle.”
“Oh. Is that how they work?”
“The Lord works in strange ways, Doctor.”
“How’s the probe?”
“Serengeti says the compressor fan might be a bit chewed. I put it down over the ridge until someone can get out to look at it.”
“Okay.”
Beth moved over toward Keene as the others arrived. “That was quick thinking, Beth,” he complimented. “You read the situation exactly right. I guess we’ve got Gallian to thank for making sure we had a professional psychologist along on the team.”
“Not really,” she told him. “I just took a course of psychiatric nursing training when I was a student.”
“So which part of it taught you about human nature like that? I’m intrigued.”
“None.” She hesitated. “It was something I saw a long time ago in a Tarzan movie.”
* * *
Rakki couldn’t understand what kind of gods these were who expended effort on others who could be of no benefit to them. They had total power to command whatever they wanted. If they needed the labor or obedience of him and his clan, they could compel it. And yet they seemed to seek approval and to serve favors. It went against everything that, in his experience of life, was necessary to survive and rule.
He watched with mixed feelings the brown-skinned female inside one of the huts, examining the eyes and mouth and skin of one of the infants, who had been vomiting and emptying body contents continuously and burning up inside with a fever madness. On the one hand, he felt a sense of pride in knowing it was he, Rakki, who had allowed the strangers into the settlement to show their skills. On the other, he was perplexed, for didn’t it make more sense to let the inherently weaker die, rather than grow to consume more food than they would ever replace? Outside, the white-faced female was letting others taste foods of kinds that neither he nor his people had ever seen before. Why should these gods care if Engressi’s baby lived or died? Why should they give away their food when there was nothing he could see that they stood to gain in return? It made no sense.
Shell Eyes was sitting on skins, tending her own baby—one who would grow strong and earn its place in the clan. Nearby, White Head was exchanging signs and words with the bearded god. It seemed that the bearded god was an Oldworlder who had once lived somewhere to the south before the Long Night, and they both knew some words of a speech that had been spoken then, although Rakki had never heard of it. The bearded god made gestures upward and looked toward the roof. White Head seemed awed. “What does he say now?” Rakki asked him.
“They went to another world beyond the sky. Now they have come back.”