peeling back a lid to study the pupil, timing his pulse against her rhythmic chant, pulling
the robe around his shoulders and cutting off the form-fitting undergarment to check for broken bones or flesh injuries. The
hale men waited anxiously. She rose, glanced about, pointed toward a ravine.
‘Yeah, get him out of the sun,’ Reid interpreted. ‘Us too.’ He remembered he was not among English speakers. But they caught
the idea. Oleg gave Erissa his ax, took the pilot, and bore him easily off. She pulled an amulet from below her tunic, a gold
miniature suspended on a thong around her neck, and touched it to the weapon before carrying that with some reverence after
the Russian.
Reid tried to study the cylindroid. At a distance of a few feet, where the nacreous flickering began, he was stopped. It was
like walking into an invisible rubber sheet, that yielded at first but increased resistance inch by inch. Protective force
field, he thought. Not an overwhelming surprise in the present context. Better stay clear – possible radiation hazard – m-m,
probably not, since the pilot – but how do we get in?
We don’t, without him.
Reid collected the hemispheres. Their hollow interiors were more elaborate than the exterior shells. The only comprehensible
features were triads of crisscrossing bands, suggestive of helmet liner suspensions. Were these, then, communication devices
to be worn on the head? He carried them along to the gulch. On the way, he noticed the pipe that had fallen from his mouth
and retrieved it. Even on doomsday, you find trivia to take care of.
Steep-sided, the ravine gave shelter from the wind and a few patches of shade. Oleg had stretched the pilot – as Reidthought of the unconscious man – in the largest of these. It was inadequate. Reid and Erissa worked together, cutting sticks
and propping them erect to support an awning made of his topcoat. Oleg shed armor and pads, heaving a gigantic sigh of relief.
Uldin took the harness off his horse, tethered it to a grass tuft above the gulch, and covered the beast as well as he could
with the unfolded saddle blanket. He brought bag and bottle down and shared the contents. Nobody had appetite for the dried
meat in the first; but sour and alcoholic though it was, the milky liquid in the second proved a lifesaver.
Then they could do nothing but squat in their separate bits of shadow and endure. Erissa went often to check on the pilot.
Oleg and Uldin climbed the crumbly bank by turns, peered through a full circle, and returned shaking their heads. Reid sat
amidst thoughts that he never quite recalled later except for his awareness of Erissa’s eyes dwelling on him.
Whatever was happening, he could no longer pretend he’d soon awaken from it.
The sun trudged westward. Shadows in the ravine stretched and flowed together. The four who waited lifted faces streaked with
dust and sweat-salt, reddened eyes and cracked gummy lips, toward the first faint balm of coolness.
The pilot stirred and called out. They ran to him.
He threshed his limbs and struggled to sit. Erissa tried to make him lie down. He would not. ‘Mentatór,’ he kept gasping,
and more words in a language that sounded faintly Hispanic but was softer. He retched. His nosebleed broke out afresh. Erissa
stanched it with a piece torn off a handkerchief Reid had given her. She signed Oleg to uphold him in a reclining posture
and herself helped him drink a little of the stuff Uldin called kumiss.
‘Wait a minute.’ Reid trotted back to where he had huddled and fetched the hemispheres. The pilot nodded with a weak vehemence
that made Erissa frown, and reached shakily for them. When Reid hunkered to assist him, she stepped aside, clearly setting
the American’s judgment above her own.
Damn if I know whether I’m doing right, he thought. This guy looks barely alive, on fire with fever, shouldn’t be put to any
strain. But if he can’t get back
the robe around his shoulders and cutting off the form-fitting undergarment to check for broken bones or flesh injuries. The
hale men waited anxiously. She rose, glanced about, pointed toward a ravine.
‘Yeah, get him out of the sun,’ Reid interpreted. ‘Us too.’ He remembered he was not among English speakers. But they caught
the idea. Oleg gave Erissa his ax, took the pilot, and bore him easily off. She pulled an amulet from below her tunic, a gold
miniature suspended on a thong around her neck, and touched it to the weapon before carrying that with some reverence after
the Russian.
Reid tried to study the cylindroid. At a distance of a few feet, where the nacreous flickering began, he was stopped. It was
like walking into an invisible rubber sheet, that yielded at first but increased resistance inch by inch. Protective force
field, he thought. Not an overwhelming surprise in the present context. Better stay clear – possible radiation hazard – m-m,
probably not, since the pilot – but how do we get in?
We don’t, without him.
Reid collected the hemispheres. Their hollow interiors were more elaborate than the exterior shells. The only comprehensible
features were triads of crisscrossing bands, suggestive of helmet liner suspensions. Were these, then, communication devices
to be worn on the head? He carried them along to the gulch. On the way, he noticed the pipe that had fallen from his mouth
and retrieved it. Even on doomsday, you find trivia to take care of.
Steep-sided, the ravine gave shelter from the wind and a few patches of shade. Oleg had stretched the pilot – as Reidthought of the unconscious man – in the largest of these. It was inadequate. Reid and Erissa worked together, cutting sticks
and propping them erect to support an awning made of his topcoat. Oleg shed armor and pads, heaving a gigantic sigh of relief.
Uldin took the harness off his horse, tethered it to a grass tuft above the gulch, and covered the beast as well as he could
with the unfolded saddle blanket. He brought bag and bottle down and shared the contents. Nobody had appetite for the dried
meat in the first; but sour and alcoholic though it was, the milky liquid in the second proved a lifesaver.
Then they could do nothing but squat in their separate bits of shadow and endure. Erissa went often to check on the pilot.
Oleg and Uldin climbed the crumbly bank by turns, peered through a full circle, and returned shaking their heads. Reid sat
amidst thoughts that he never quite recalled later except for his awareness of Erissa’s eyes dwelling on him.
Whatever was happening, he could no longer pretend he’d soon awaken from it.
The sun trudged westward. Shadows in the ravine stretched and flowed together. The four who waited lifted faces streaked with
dust and sweat-salt, reddened eyes and cracked gummy lips, toward the first faint balm of coolness.
The pilot stirred and called out. They ran to him.
He threshed his limbs and struggled to sit. Erissa tried to make him lie down. He would not. ‘Mentatór,’ he kept gasping,
and more words in a language that sounded faintly Hispanic but was softer. He retched. His nosebleed broke out afresh. Erissa
stanched it with a piece torn off a handkerchief Reid had given her. She signed Oleg to uphold him in a reclining posture
and herself helped him drink a little of the stuff Uldin called kumiss.
‘Wait a minute.’ Reid trotted back to where he had huddled and fetched the hemispheres. The pilot nodded with a weak vehemence
that made Erissa frown, and reached shakily for them. When Reid hunkered to assist him, she stepped aside, clearly setting
the American’s judgment above her own.
Damn if I know whether I’m doing right, he thought. This guy looks barely alive, on fire with fever, shouldn’t be put to any
strain. But if he can’t get back
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