Rip checked to see if Solo was still alive. Well, his heart was pumping and he was breathing shallowly. His hands seemed warm enough, despite the temperatures. Amazing, that.
Solo, can you hear me?
No response.
Rip grabbed Adam Solo by the armpits and pulled mightily. The bear was a lot of dead weight; after repeated tugs, Solo’s legs came free.
“Solo, can you hear me?” He said it aloud this time, and still no response.
Rip checked the rifle, opened the action, ejecting the spent cartridge, and ensured the barrel was free of snow. He closed the lever, chambering a fresh round, and lowered the hammer. He laid the rifle carefully in the snow and checked Solo again. No other visible injuries.
A pirate. Murdered monks and farmers. Carried women away to be enslaved and raped. Leif the Lucky. Ah, yes … Lucky.
There was no tension in Solo’s body. He was unconscious. Whether from loss of blood, a concussion, or internal injury, Rip didn’t know.
He lifted Solo, marveling at how slight he was.
Rip draped the spaceman over his shoulder. He was tempted to abandon the rifle, but afraid he might need it later. With great effort he retrieved the rifle with his free hand and started following the tracks back the way he had come.
His burden was heavy and he was soon tired. The wind began to rise, blowing against his back as he trudged on into the gathering darkness.
Rip was at least a mile from the cave when he felt Solo stir. The muscles in his body tightened.
“Solo?”
A grunt in reply.
Rip laid the man in the snow on his back. He didn’t stay down but raised himself slowly to a sitting position. He looked around, looked at Rip and saw the rifle.
“You killed the bear and he darn near killed you.”
Solo merely nodded, then shoved his hands into the snow and tried to stand.
“Don’t do that, you idiot!” Rip ordered. “You’ve lost a lot of blood and probably have a concussion.”
Solo ignored him and got upright. He swayed, then steadied himself. Looked around.
“I can’t understand,” Rip said, “why you didn’t get hypothermia lying out there. Temp is damn near zero. Your hands ought to be frozen.”
Solo felt his head, examining the wound with his fingers. He scraped some of the dried blood away. His hair was coated with it, but there was nothing that could be done about that. His scalp seemed to be in place and it wasn’t bleeding.
“We gotta get back and see what we can do about sewing you up,” Rip said. He picked up the rifle and started walking. Solo followed. He staggered a time or two, but he remained upright with his feet going.
When they were back in the cave, Egg seated Solo by the fire and examined the wound while Rip explained about the bear. For illumination, Egg used the fire and the flashlight, which still had some juice left in its batteries.
“It’s very sore,” Solo said.
“It’s almost healed,” Egg said in amazement. “The wound is completely closed.”
Charley made a noise. “Let me look.” She took the flashlight and examined Solo’s scalp.
“Just an angry red line,” she said softly, and went around the fire to take a seat.
“Rip?” Egg queried.
“That polar bear nearly ripped off his scalp. He bled a lot and was unconscious when I found him. I carried him a mile or so, then he woke up and walked the last mile. There he sits.”
“Mr. Solo?” Egg murmured.
“Mr. Cantrell. I have been shot with bullets and arrows, stabbed, slashed, and have fallen from cliffs. I survived several explosions, extraordinary low temperatures that killed several of my companions, and two airplane crashes. And now, a bear attack. My body’s ability to repair itself has been enhanced.”
“Enhanced?”
“Enhanced. An induced genetic mutation.”
“Ye Gods,” Charley Pine moaned. “If those drug moguls find out about that, they’ll slice and dice you and put the pieces under a microscope.”
“Let’s hope they don’t find out,” Adam Solo said, fingering his healing scalp wound.
“Can you be killed?” Rip asked.
“Of course. If the wound is severe enough, I’ll die before my body can repair the damage.” Solo shrugged. “It will happen someday, a traumatic death, or my body will just wear out. I am mortal, as is every living thing. To be honest, as that white bear charged, I thought my time was over.”
In the silence that followed that remark, Charley asked, “Were you scared?”
“No.” He thought about that answer and added, “Relieved, perhaps.”
Adam Solo eyed the fish. Before anyone could reply to his previous comment, he suggested, “One of those would be superb just now.”
His companions agreed. In minutes they were roasting fish on sticks over the fire and Solo was telling them about the bear.
The conversation moved to the coming starship. “How is it powered?” Egg asked.
“Nuclear fusion,” Solo replied. “The reactors in these saucers use fission, but the starships use fusion, the same reaction that goes on inside a star. Light elements, like hydrogen, are fused into heavier elements, and the energy from the reaction is used to power the ship.”
“Fusion has never been achieved here on earth,” Egg remarked.
“The reaction requires a force field to hold it; no material known in the universe can. Suspended in the electromagnetic field, a few grams of light elements are so compressed that nuclear fusion begins. A tiny star beings to burn.”
“The computer had information about it that I couldn’t understand.”
“I don’t,” Adam Solo replied. “No man can know everything.”
They discussed fusion reactors as the fire burned, more wood was added and the fish roasted.
“How is the energy used to move the ship?” Rip asked.
“The energy powers artificial gravity fields, which are used like the rings in the saucer to repel a gravity force, or to attract it, whichever is most efficient at the time. In effect, the ship hurls itself toward a star or black hole, or pushes it away.”
“What is your world like?” Charley Pine asked, changing the subject rather dramatically.
“It’s been a long time,” Solo said. “A few years ago I was in Hollywood when the Star Wars movie projects came around. I drew up some pictures of what the cities of my youth were like, turned them in to the studio artists, who embellished them more than a little.” He laughed. “When I saw the first movie, I wasn’t sure exactly what I remembered.”
“So how’s your head?”
“Sore.”
“So you survived another adventure.”
“That’s the definition of experience,” Solo said with a trace of a smile, “which is underappreciated by those who don’t have it and overvalued by those who do.”
10
After dinner everyone took turns examining Solo’s scalp by firelight. The wound was completely healed, leaving only an angry red scar, which would probably disappear soon.
“Amazing,” Egg said.
Charley and Rip had no comment. They looked askance at each other, then wandered toward the Viking ship.
“Oh, man,” Charley moaned softly. “Oh, man! If you thought eternal life got them lathered up, imagine what will happen when they hear about enhancing the body’s ability to recover from wounds. The military will pull out all the stops. Gotta have it, gotta have it, gotta have it.”
“No one will believe that you and I know nothing about this.”
“Even if there is one chance in a million that we have the formula for antiaging, or body quick-repair, we’re toast. Even if the Americans leave us alone, there are the Russians, Chinese, North Koreans and Muslim fanatics. With eternal life and a quick fix for wounds, the diaper-heads would be Allah’s supermen.”