THE STONES OF NOMURU
L. Sprague de Camp & Catherine Crook de Camp
I – THE DIG
"Get those goddam animals out of my way!" yelled the huge, black-browed man who stood at the end of the rickety footbridge across the Sappari.
Keith Adams Salazar, in dirty khakis and a tropical sun helmet, looked up from his task of calming the terrified kudzai, while his three native helpers unloaded supplies intended for his camp. He studied the burly man and the group of Terrans and Kukulcanians that thronged the trail behind him, then said mildly:
"I'm getting out as fast as I can. But we shall have to pull my animal's foot out of this rotten planking before we can move."
Crimsoning, the black-browed man waved a large, hairy fist. "Goddamn it, why don't you just pull? You must be as stupid as that creature!" Topping two meters, he towered over Salazar.
The latter's lips set in a thin, acerbic line, but he answered reasonably: "Because if we don't unload it first, the animal will buck itself into the river."
"I don't give a damn what happens to the fucking beast!" screamed the big man. "Goddamn it, you're holding me up on purpose!"
Salazar ignored the choleric stranger and, with the help of his Kooks, at last released the kudzai's imprisoned hoof and calmed the squealing, tapirlike beast. As they reloaded the scaly pack animal, the turtle-beaked faces of Salazar's helpers showed no emotion. Still, a Terran skilled in the ways of the folk of the planet Kukulcan could have interpreted their anger from the rippling patterns of the bristles on their necks.
The Kooks—natives of Kukulcan, so called by human settlers on that planet—were taller than most human beings but more slender. Although built on the general lines of a bipedal Terran primate, they did not much resemble any Earthly being. If anything, their aspect was reptilian. They had four-digit, clawed hands and feet; skins covered with iridescent scales and further decorated with painted symbols in a kaleidoscope of colors; no visible organs of sex; and a fishy smell. Muskets of peculiar shape were slung across their backs, while leather cases and pouches dangled from various straps, like the equipment of Terran tourists on a wildlife-watching expedition.
Finally Salazar's party got under way. The bridge shuddered beneath the weight of the Terran, his three Kooks, and the three kudzais. As he neared the far end of the structure, Salazar glanced back to see the other party already starting across instead of waiting for the bridge to clear. Fearing that the combined weight of the parties would overload the rope cables that supported the structure, he picked up his pace. Reaching solid ground again, Salazar pulled off to one side, saying amicably:
"Since you're in such a tearing hurry, perhaps you—"
"I ought to slap the shit out of you!" roared the burly man.
"Have you had your blood pressure checked lately?" asked Salazar. "Such an unruly temper implies a medical problem."
For an instant it looked as if the black-browed man would hurl himself at Salazar. Then the latter's three Kooks, with pink, forked tongues flicking out, un-slung and leveled their muskets. The burly man paused with a hand on his holster.
Two other Terrans elbowed their way forward. One was tall, young, and fair-haired; the other, dark and obese. The heavy one spoke with an accent as thick as borsch. "Come on! If you two kill each other, is no fun for us." Laughing equably, he put a convivial arm around the burly man. "Come on, Conrad, before you turn to stone like bogatïri."
The speaker and the blond man led their grumbling companion away. Another Terran, stocky, tea-colored, and flat-faced, stepped up and nodded politely. "I am sorry, sir," he said. "Mr. Bergen's temper is—well, he has problems. Permit me; my name is Chung."
"Glad to know you, Mr. Chung," said Salazar. He waved a hand at the rest of the group, now filing down the trail ahead. "And who are those people?"
"It is a hunting party from Suvarov, which Mr. Bergen has organized. And you, if I may ask?"
"I'm Keith Salazar, from the university."
"The archaeologist?"
"Yep."
"Digging up Nomuru?"
Salazar nodded. "Don't advertise it, please. I don't want spectators. Where are you people headed?"
"Kinyobi Valley. Mr. Bergen wants to shoot a tseturen and take its head back."
"He'd better have a big room to mount it in," observed Salazar. "How'll he get it back? It'll weigh a ton."
"He plans to build a sled and hire Kooks to haul it. Do you know the trail to Kinyobi?"
"Yep."
"Do you know how many days' hike it is from here?"
"Yep."
Chung paused, then smiled. "A precise man, I see, Professor Salazar. How many days' hike is it?"
" 'Bout two and a half, on foot. I think one could make it in a day and a half on juten back, but I've never ridden a juten."
"Neither have Mr. Travers and Mr. Pokrovskii; that is why they are walking the distance. Thank you; it is my pleasure to meet you." Chung ducked a bow and trotted off after the hunting party.
Salazar waited as the fat hunter's booming laughter wafted back along the trail, fainter and fainter. When Salazar could no longer hear it, he resumed his trek.
A crashing in the underbrush revealed the flight of some beast, probably a wild kudzai, whose tusks could be dangerous. Overhead a hurato—an arboreal carnivore with long, spidery limbs, blue-and-white spotted scales, and a prehensile tail—swung agilely away through the leafy branches.
Smaller fliers called zutas flitted among the lush foliage. When they flew through shafts of sunlight, their batlike wings glowed with patterns of ruby, gold, and sapphire against the backdrop of somber green. One, bearing a striped pattern of emerald and black, flew near the foremost Kook in Salazar's train. With a lightning snatch, the native caught it, stuffed it into his beaked maw, and munched it with a crackle of small bones.
Salazar picked up a dead branch a meter long and, as he walked, slashed at the jungle vegetation, whose new spring growth glowed a pale jade-green. Only then did he give vent to his rage.
"Son of a bitch! Son of a bitch!"
When he had worked off his passion, he relaxed, enjoying some slight satisfaction at having kept his temper under extreme provocation. On Kukulcan, he reflected, loss of self-control could get one a brief mention in the obituary column of the Henderson Times.
Moreover, if Salazar had let Bergen goad him into fisticuffs, the hunter would have made a hash of him. Although both were of an age and Salazar was in good trim, Bergen far outweighed him. For the hundredth time, Salazar felt a stab of regret that the splendid Kara, his former wife, was no longer there to support him; and it was all his own stupid fault.
When the big bungalow tent of Salazar's camp hulked up through the trees, he blew a whistle to notify his native camp workers of his approach. Through the scattering of foliage he saw a flicker of motion as two figures emerged from the tent. He called out in Shongo, rendering the sounds of that alien tongue as well as human vocal organs could:
"Kono! Uwangi! It is I, your master. All is well with me. Is all well with you?"
Then he saw another figure issue from the tent. The curtain of twigs and fronds, swaying in the breeze between him and the tent, did not disguise the fact that the newcomer was a female Terran.
"Galina?" he called. When the woman did not at once reply, he added: "Who are you? Kto v-ï? Ni shéi ma?" Then, as he strode forward with a hand on his pistol holster, he exclaimed: "Good God, it's Kara!"
"Yes," she said, approaching. She was a slim woman of medium height and build, with strong, classical features and gray-green eyes beneath dark curls. A connoisseur would have called her handsome rather than beautiful. "Hello, Keith. Please don't look at me as if I had two heads!"