males, they didn’t seem as muscular—perhaps capable of uprooting medium-sized trees, but not of tearing sheet metal like paper. They also seemed a bit bowlegged, squatter, and had small, rock-firm breasts. They had no horns, either, but they shared the male’s permanently nasty expressions and seemed to have fangs that were a bit longer than their brothers’. There may have been a half-octave difference in their speech, but considering the grunts, groans, growls, and yowls these things made, nobody but they would ever know.
One of the females was also wearing a watch, and two of the newcomers, a male and a female, seemed to be wearing some jewelry—made of bones, Mavra noted—dangling from their ears and around their necks. Perhaps insignia of rank or tribe, she guessed.
The first male roared so loudly it panicked birds for a quarter-kilometer around; he gestured to the others. They first tried to boost him up on top of the module, but the surface was too slippery for him. Then they took another tack. They went around to the other side and started pushing, the big one counting cadence of sorts. The module rocked, rocked again, and, on the third try, rolled over on its side. One of the females picked up a rock almost the size of Mavra Chang and wedged it under the module while the others held it steady.
The big one then went back around and roared approval. The open hatch was now at about his eye level, and he peered in, curiously. A massive arm reached out, went into the hole, and there was a terrible crunching noise. The hand came out clasping a seat, ripped from its solid connections to the floor, and he looked at it. One of the females pointed a clawed finger at the seatrest, and the others nodded. One of the other males stooped down a little and held his hand just above his knee. Mavra could guess the conversation. They were estimating the size of the creatures who had ridden it in.
That did it, she decided, and slowly slunk back into the woods. No use getting caught by a wind change. Those folks were obviously bright even if primitive, and the assembly of giants was becoming a convention rather quickly. She didn’t want any introductions until she knew what those giants would eat.
Nikki spotted her first. “Over here!” she called, and Mavra ran to them.
“Mavra! Thank god!” Renard exclaimed with real feeling, and hugged her. “We heard all that roaring and growling and we didn’t know what had happened!”
Quickly she told them about the cyclops. They listened in growing awe and terror.
“We’ll have to get away from here pretty quickly,” she explained. “They already know we’re around.”
The other two nodded. “But—which way?” Nikki asked. “We could be going toward one of their cities or something and never know it.”
Mavra thought for a moment. “Wait a minute. We know the whole world isn’t like this—we even saw some of the nearby places before the visuals went out. There’s an ocean and some mountains to the east of here, definitely not these folks’ kind of turf. We saw such terrain on the way in, remember?”
“But which way’s east?” Renard asked her.
“The planet’s rotation was basically west-to-east,” Mavra reminded him. “That means the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. I’d say it’s getting close to evening now, so that places the sun over there, and east is this way.” She pointed, and said, “Let’s go.”
They had no choice. They followed her into the woods. Behind them, the roaring and bellowing continued.
“We should stick to the woods as long as possible,” she told them as they went. “It’ll be harder for those big babies to follow or track us.”
They agreed with that and proceeded on for some time, saying little to one another because there seemed to be nothing to say. Nikki, because of her bulk, had the toughest problem, but she was bearing up well, all things considered. She had only one complaint.
“I’m starving,” she moaned during every one of their frequent rest periods.
Renard was getting a little hungry himself. The sun was getting low, the shadows deepening into dusk. “Maybe I could stun one of those little animals we keep seeing,” he suggested. “A short burst with the pistol, that’s all.”
Mavra thought it over. “All right. Try it. But—make sure you see something and make sure you’re on stun. We don’t want to set any forest fires here.”
Almost as if cued by the conversation, one of the critters they’d been talking about rustled around in the underbrush. It was large—almost a meter long—but low, with a thin snout, some bushy whiskers, and beady little rodent’s eyes.
Renard calculated from the noise where it would come out into a clear spot and set and aimed his pistol. The thing seemed oblivious to the risk, and finally appeared where it was supposed to. Renard pressed the trigger stud.
Nothing happened.
The little creature turned to them, chattered what might have been an insult, and scurried off into the darkness.
“What the hell?” Renard exclaimed, befuddled. He looked at the pistol, tapped it, looked at the charge meter. “No charge!” he said, amazed. “It should be three-quarters full!” He started to throw the pistol away, but Mavra reached out and took his arm, stopping him.
“Keep it,” she told him. “Remember, our ship didn’t work here either. Maybe no machines will. The pistol might be useful later, when we get to the sea. Even if it isn’t, nobody else will know it’s empty. It might prove useful as a bluff.”
Renard wasn’t so sure, but he wasn’t about to question the woman now. He holstered it.
“Looks like we go to bed hungry,” he said. “Sorry, Nikki.”
The girl sighed, but could say nothing.
“I’ll find us some food tomorrow, I promise,” Mavra found herself saying, and she half-believed it. She’d been in hopeless and impossible situations many times, and every time something had happened to straighten things out. She was a survivor. Nothing lethal ever happened to her.
“We’ll stay the night right here,” she told them. “We can’t risk a fire, but I’ll take first watch. When I can’t take it anymore, I’ll wake you, Renard. Then you do the same with Nikki.”
The other two both protested, but Mavra was in charge and she was firm. “I won’t fall asleep this time,” she promised.
They settled down as best they could. Only Mavra was dressed for this sort of thing. Nikki, who had had only the filmy noncovering standard to New Pompeii and some sandals, had discarded the sandals long before, as had Renard. They had also abandoned wearing the covering, as it caught on the branches and bushes. Mavra had buried the sandals rather than leave a trail, but she had made them carry their clothing as some sort of protection against the dampness of the ground.
With the two as settled as possible, Mavra removed her devices from the compartment in her boot and checked each out. Without the power pack they didn’t help much, and the power pack, as expected, didn’t work. She abandoned the project.
Darkness descended like a blanket, and her eyes went to infrared.
Nikki was sound asleep almost instantly, but she could hear Renard twist and turn, and finally sit up.
“What’s the problem?” she whispered. “Too much for one day?”
He came over to her, carefully. She was almost invisible in her dark clothing.
“No, it’s not that,” he whispered back. “I was just thinking, and feeling a little. It’s starting to get to me.”
“The situation?”
“The sponge,” he responded flatly. “I’m in a great deal of pain right now—it’s like a yearning agony that courses through your whole body.”
“All the time?” she asked, concerned.
He shook his head. “It comes in waves. This one’s pretty bad. I don’t know if it’s getting to Nikki yet, but if it isn’t it will.” He paused for a moment, then let the words come, those words that were unarguable and inevitable.
“We’re dying, Mavra,” he said flatly.
She accepted the statement, but not its finality. Sponge was an abstract thing to her, and she’d almost forgotten about their problem.
“What’s it do, Renard?” she asked him. “And how long does it take to do it?”
