while Sola cleaned and prepared the flesh. The woman appeared to have had a good education; she could do things.
As the night advanced they opened the packs and set up the two nylon-mesh tents. Sos dug a pit downstream for offal while Sol did isometric exercises. Sola gathered a stock of dry branches for the fire, whose blaze seemed to give her comfort.
The bird remained with Sos all this time, moving from his shoulder when he had to get at the pack, but never straying far. It did not eat. 'You can't live long that way, stupid,' he reminded it affectionately. And that became its name: Stupid.
A white shape rose before him as he returned from the pit, spookily silent. One of the great hawk moths, he decided, and stepped toward it.
Stupid squawked unmelodiously and flew at it. There was a brief struggle in the air-the insect seemed as large as the bird, in this light-then the white collapsed and disappeared into the outsize avian mouth. Sos understood: his bird was a night feeder, at a disadvantage in full daylight. Probably the hawk had surprised it sleeping and run it down while in a befuddled state. All Stupid wanted was a safe place to perch and snooze by day.
In the morning they struck camp and advanced farther into the forbidden area. Still there was no animal life on the ground, mammal, reptile or amphibian, nor, be realized was there insect life there. Butterflies, bees, flies, winged beetles and the large nocturnal moths abounded but the ground itself was clean. It was ordinarily the richest of nature's spawning habitats.
Radiation in the earth, lingering longer than that elsewhere? But most insects had a larval stage in ground or water.. . and the plants were unaffected. He squatted to dig into the humus with a stick.
They were there: grubs and earthworms and burrowing-beetles, seemingly normal. Life existed under the ground and above it-but what had happened to the surface denizens?
'Looking for a friend?' Sola inquired acidly. He did not attempt to explain what was bothering him, since he was not sure himself.
In the afternoon they found it: a beautiful open valley, flat where a river had once flooded, and with a line of trees where the river remained. Upstream the valley narrowed into a cleft and waterfall, easy to guard, while downstream the river spread into a reedy swamp that neither foot nor boat could traverse handily. There were green passes through the rounded mountains on either side.
'A hundred men and their families could camp here!' Sol exclaimed. 'Two, three hundred!' He had brightened considerably since discovering that the nemesis of the badlands had no teeth.
'It looks good,' Sos admitted. 'Provided there is no danger we don't know about.' And was there?
'No game,' Sol said seriously. 'But there are fish and birds, and we can send out foraging parties. I have seen fruit trees, too.' He had really taken this project to heart, Sos saw, and was alert for everything affecting its success. Yet there was danger in becoming prematurely positive, too.
'Fish and fruit!' Sola muttered, making a face, but she seemed glad that at least they would not be going deeper into the danger zone. Sos was glad, too; he felt the aura of the badlands, and knew that its mystery was more than what could be measured in Roentgens.
Stupid squawked again as the great white shapes of night appeared. There were several in sight on the plain, their color making them appear much larger than they were, and the bird flapped happily after them. Apparently the tremendous moths were its only diet-his diet, Sos thought, assigning a suitable sex-and he consumed them indefatigably. Did Stupid store them up in his crop for lean nights?
'Awful sound,' Sola remarked, and he realized that she meant Stupid's harsh cry. Sos found no feasible retort. This woman both fascinated and infuriated him-but her opinion hardly made a difference to the bird.
One of the moths fluttered silently under Sol's nose on its way to their fire. Sol made that lightning motion and caught it in his hand, curious about it. Then he cursed and brushed it away as it stung him, and Stupid fetched it in.
'It stung you?' Sos inquired. 'Let me see that hand.' He drew Sol to the fire and studied the puncture.
There was a single red-rimmed spot in the flesh at the base of the thumb, with no other inflammation or swelling. 'Probably nothing, just a defensive bite,' Sos said. 'I'm no doctor. But I don't like it. If I were you, I'd cut, it open and suck out any venom there may be, just to be sure. I never heard of a' moth with a sting.'
'Injure my own right hand?' Sol
