The Dark Design by Phillip Jose Farmer

There was silence for a moment, the silence that only the River-valley knew-when people kept their mouths shut. No birds, no animals (especially no barking dogs), no mechanical monsters roaring, bellowing, buzzing, screeching, no tooting horns, no whooping or screaming sirens, no shrieking brakes, no loud radios, no blaring loudspeakers. Only water lapping against shore and then a splash as a fish leaped out and fell back. And the crackle of wood in the fire.

“Ah!” Firebrass said. “Smooth! Better’n anything I ever had on Earth! And free, free! But when, when will the airmen show up? I need more men with experience, real gasbaggers!”

Schwartz made a smacking sound-Jill could see the bottle tilted above his lips now-and he said, “So! You are not so unworried!”

The canoe touched shore, and she got out of it without tipping it. The water was up to her waist, but the magnetically sealed cloths kept the cold liquid out. She waded closer and lifted the long, heavy canoe, moving forward until she was on shore. She let the craft down and dragged it until its entire length was out of the stream. The bank was only about 30 centimeters above the water level. She stood for a moment, planning her entrance, then decided not to go armed.

“Oh, I’ll get them eventually,” Firebrass was saying.

She stepped closer, sliding her feet over the short grass. .

“I’m the one you’re looking for,” she said loudly.

The four whirled, one almost falling and grabbing another. They stared, their mouths and eyes dark holes in paleness. Like her, they were covered with cloths but theirs were brightly colored. If she had been an enemy, she could have put an arrow into each one before they could grab their weapons–if they had such. Then she saw that they did have guns, placed on the edge of the mushroom top of the grailstone.

Pistols! Made of iron! So, it was true!

Now she suddenly saw a rapier, a long, steel sharp-pointed blade, in the hand of the tallest man there. His other hand brushed his hood back and revealed a long, dark face with a big nose. He had to be the fabled Cyrano de Bergerac.

Cyrano reverted to seventeenth-century French, of which she could understand only a few words.

Firebrass. pushed his hood back, too.

“I almost crapped in my britches! Why didn’t you warn us you were coming?”

She lowered her hood.

Firebrass stepped closer and looked keenly at her. “It’s a woman!”

“Nevertheless, I’m your man,” Jill said.

“What’d you say?”

“Don’t you understand English!” she said angrily.

Her displeasure was more at herself. She had been so excited, though pretending to be composed, that she’d reverted to her Toowoomba dialect. She might as well have spoken in Shakespearean English for all they understood. She repeated, in the standard Midwestern American she’d learned so painstakingly, “Nevertheless, I’m your man. My name, by the way, is Jill Gulbirra.”

Firebrass introduced himself and the others, then said, “I need another drink.”

“I could use one myself,” Jill said. “It’s a fallacy that alcohol warms you up, but it does make you think you’re warmed up.”

Firebrass stopped and picked up a bottle-the first glass Jill had seen for years. He handed it to her and she drank the scotch without wiping the mouth of the bottle. After all, there were no disease germs on The River. And she had no prejudices about drinking from a bottle that had been in the mouth of a half-black. Wasn’t her grandmother an aborigine? Of course, abos were not Negroes. They were black-skinned archaic Caucasians.

Why was she thinking such thoughts?

Cyrano, his head stuck forward, his back bent, walked up to her. He looked her over, shook his head, and said, “Mordioux, the hair is shorter than mine! And there is no makeup! Are you sure she is a woman?”

Jill moved the scotch around in her mouth and swallowed it. It was delicious, and it warmed all the way down.

“We shall see,” the Frenchman said. He put his hand on her left breast and squeezed gently.

Jill sank a fist into his hard belly. He bent over, and Jill brought her knee up against his chin. He fell heavily.