In his room he shed his wet clothes and hung them up to dry. Since they were drably durable garments for travel, he did not fear damage from wetting. But there was something he was supposed to do once he got the letter off. What was it?
Oh, yes, he must enter a record of the day's events in his journal while they were still fresh in his mind. If he did not faithfully discharge this task, then, when he later came to write up his expedition, dates and places would be jumbled.
He sprawled on the bed, holding the recorder near his mouth, and dictated a narrative into the machine. At the first reference to Alexis Ritter, he remembered that she was waiting for an assignation.
Kirk Salazar had a compulsion to finish any task he began before starting on another, despite hell or high water. Having commenced this job he was determined to finish it before letting anything distract him. Besides, it had only a few minutes more to go. He dictated as much verbatim conversation as he could remember.
He awoke to find that the time, by his poignet, was nigh unto dawn. Then he remembered Alexis's invitation. Now, however, seemed hardly the time. He cursed himself as an ineffectual incompetent.
In the morning Salazar entered the room where Levontin's staff served breakfast. When he sighted Alexis, he started toward her with a cheerful "Good morning, Al—"
She saw him coming and turned her back.
"Hello, Kirk!" boomed George Cantemir around a doughnut. He gulped acha, the Kukulcanian analogue of coffee, and asked: "Sleep well?"
"So-so."
Cantemir drew Salazar toward a corner and lowered his voice. "I saw your little byplay just now. What did you do to get her sore?"
"Fell asleep."
"Huh?"
"Yep. She told me to come back for a proper good night after I'd done some necessary work. But I fell asleep on my bed, and when I woke up the sky was getting light."
Cantemir shook with suppressed mirth. "No wonder! You got her all horny, and then, when she expected a royal fuck, you stood her up! If I'd known, I'd have been glad to substitute."
"Sure that's what she wanted?"
"Oh, sure. I've asked around, and she's a hot piece. Up in the hills, with her cult, she's holier than thou and asks the same of her suckers. But every couple of sixtnights she comes down on the train for a good frigging with some local. Named Peters, I hear. In fact, I think that's him now."
He jerked his leonine head toward a large young man with sandy hair and a snub nose standing near Alexis. The young man was speaking in an earnest undertone, with rapid gestures. Probably, thought Salazar, trying to explain why he had not appeared for his date with Alexis.
"Better luck next time," said Cantemir, slapping Salazar's narrow back. "What work was so important you couldn't break it off for a good screw?"
"I had to write—" Salazar began. He almost blurted out that he was writing his father to use his influence against Cantemir's project when he realized what a bungle that would be. He finished: "I mean, I had to dictate my day's observations."
Cantemir grinned. "You've got some growing up to do yet, boy. No real man lets clerical work stand in the way of free cunt; only with her, watch out she doesn't hit you with a bag full of buckshot, like she did me. Going to look at the giant makutos in the Michisko Bush?"
"Yep. I'm told they're the only herd of them on this island."
"I'll ask Tchitchagov to let me tag along. I haven't seen them, either, and I want to before we kill them off. See you!" Cantemir walked off.
II – The Michisko Bush
In the ruddy light of rising Epsilon Eridani, outside Levontin's Paradise Palace stood another wagon. Two purple-brown kyuumeis drew it, with a Kook on the driver's seat in front. Standing before the zuta watchers, Tchitchagov counted and said:
"Only nineteen? Where are the others?"
"Mrs. Ramos was tired," volunteered a member.
"Mr. Antonelli said he had seen all the makutos he wanted on the mainland," said Kirk Salazar.
"Mr. Mpanza isn't feeling well," said another.
"Miss Bedford wanted to shop in Sungecho," added still another.
"If she can find anything worth buying," said Tchitchagov, "I should like to know about it. At least I shall not have to find another wagon." He added in an undertone to Salazar: "Unless the Reverend demands to come along. He would fill two places."
Salazar said: "Igor, how did you make out with the chief?"
"I won a delay," replied the tour director, turning. "Hello, Mr. Cantemir."
Cantemir strolled up, accompanied by two armed Kooks. "Got room for me, Igor?"
"I fear there is not," said Tchitchagov. "All seats are occupied."
"He iss not velcome, anyway," said Herr Willebrandt. "We know about his plans to—how would you say?—Mount Sungara to scalp."
"Just one of those ruthless exploiters," added Mrs. Long. "The kind that has made our Terra into a big, overcrowded, overregulated jailhouse. You have to get official permission to keep a pet parakeet lest it upset the balance between food production and consumption."
Cantemir grinned through his golden beard. "Now, ladies and gentlemen, is that any way to convert anybody to your point of view? You'd get further with flattery and soft soap. Igor, I can sit on the tailboard." To his two Kooks he added in Sungao: "Fare ye well, lads. Do naught that I would not do." The Kooks walked off. "Ready?"
"Not quite," said Tchitchagov. "Chief Yaamo is sending one of his people as a guide. Here it comes, now."
Salazar thought the Kook approaching was probably as much a policeman to keep a wary eye on the aliens from outer space as a guide. The newcomer's hide bore a painted pattern of green and brown symbols, and a rifle was slung across its back. From its lack of the small, spiny crest that distinguished male Kooks, Salazar inferred that the newcomer was a female. Perhaps she was an onnifa, a barren female filling normally male roles such as soldier or mariner.
Approaching Tchitchagov, the guide spoke in Sungao: "Are you Chief Tchitchagov? I have been assigned to you as guide. I hight Fetutsi, forest warden third class."
"We are glad to have you," replied Tchitchagov in the same tongue. "This is an English-speaking group. Speak you that language?"
"A ritter," said Fetutsi. "Not very wey."
Conversing with Fetutsi was like talking with an intelligent parrot because of the differences between human and Kukulcanian vocal organs. Salazar knew that Kooks felt the same way about Terrans' efforts to imitate their rasping, cawing speech. Terrans trying to learn a native language complained that the sounds meant by letters used to transliterate Kukulcanian words bore only a faint resemblance to the Terran sounds those letters usually denoted.
"Where sit?" asked Fetutsi.
"On the tailboard," said Tchitchagov, pointing. The Kook nodded and heaved herself up, sitting with her back against the aftermost bench and with her feet dangling. Cantemir hoisted himself up beside her, while Tchitchagov climbed up to the little bench in front and sat beside the Kook driver.
"All ready?" he said, peering around. Then to the driver: "Katai!"
The driver released his brake and flicked the two kyuumeis with his whip. The massive animals ambled off; after them the wagon groaned and creaked. The wheels rattled on the cobblestones, shaking the passengers like one of those vibrating machines used to thin down overweight Terrans. As Salazar had noted before boarding, springing was of the simplest. Soon the paving ceased, and the wheels squelched through the mud of the latest rain. The vehicle lurched more but vibrated less.