It was with a startled, and eerie feeling, that they had heard his shriek of pleasure in the experimental shack.
In the cubicle bad lain the Herjellsen artifact, the rounded, chipped, roughly polished stone; it weighed 2.1 kilograms. It was a tool, a weapon.
“Gentlemen,” bad said Herjellsen, “the first series of experiments is herewith concluded.”
“I still suspect Herjellsen is a charlatan,” said William.
“It is possible,” said Gunther.
“Yet-the artifact,” said William. “It seems genuine.”
Hamilton had seen the artifact many times. It was commonly kept in the computer building.
“You believe,” asked Hamilton of William, “that there is some trick involved in all this?”
“That certainly seems plausible,” said William, looking out the window of the Land Rover. The glass was rolled down. His face was dusty, particularly the right side. There was dust, too, on his sunglasses.
“It takes years to make such an object,” said Hamilton, archly. “Herjellsen couldn’t have made it, could he?”
“It does not take years to make such an object,” said Gunther. “Flint is a soft stone. It can be worked swiftly. Such an ax could be chipped by a skilled craftsman in forty minutes, and polished in an hour.”
“How would you know?” asked William..
“It is simply a matter of the physics of the stone,” said Gunther. “The physics of the stone makes the answer clear.”
“I had always thought it would take a long time,” said Hamilton.
“You are incorrect,” said Gunther.
“Oh,” said Hamilton.
“If such a stone can be worked quickly,” said William, “and I shall take your word for that, then it seems quite likely that the Herjellsen artifact was manufactured by our dear colleague, the amiable professor himself.”
“I do not regard that as likely,” said Gunther.
“You realize what you are saying,” said William, slowly.
“Precisely,” said Gunther.
“It could have been stolen,” suggested Hamilton.
“The stone is fresh,” said Gunther. “It bears no signs of age.”
“What better evidence that it is a fake?” asked William.
“What better evidence that it is genuine?” asked Gunther.
Hamilton shivered.
“If the Herjellsen conjecture is correct,” said Gunther, “the stone should be as it is, fresh, clean, newly worked.”
“That is true,” said William.
“Herjellsen, did he not,” asked Hamilton, “once stole such a stone.” She said nothing more. Gunther, when speaking to her of Herjellsen, had told her this among other things. Hamilton did not mention that it had been stolen from a museum in Denmark. A guard had been killed in the theft.
“He stole it to study it,” said Gunther.
“Why should he wish to do that?” asked William.
“I do not know,” said Gunther. “Perhaps he wished to conduct tests. Perhaps he wished only to know it thoroughly, so that he might recognize such an artifact again.”
Hamilton stared out the dusty windshield. They were now in trackless bush country. Gunther because of the terrain had slowed the vehicle. He occasionally shifted gears, the machine lurching up slopes or pulling out of sand pits. A pack of bush pigs, grunting and snuffling, scattered into the brush. The country was hot, dusty, desolate. In the back of the Rover Gunther had two rifles.
“Why would he wish to recognize such an artifact again?” asked William.
“I do not know,” said Gunther. “But I suspect, that for some reason, it is important to him.”
“He speaks often of the stars,” said Hamilton.
“What has a piece of shaped stone, the head of a primitive ax, to do with the stars?” asked Gunther.
“I’m sure I do not know,” laughed Hamilton.
He looked at her, angrily.
Hamilton was silent.
“Do you truly believe,” asked Gunther of William, “that the Herjellsen artifact is not genuine?”
“It is a fake,” said William. “All of this is a matter of tricks, a magician’s illusions.”
“Do you truly believe that?” asked Gunther.
“Of course,” said William. “I am not mad.”
“Why do you remain in the compound? Why do you continue to work with Herjellsen?” asked Gunther.
“Oh,” smiled William, “the pay is remarkably good, you know, free trip to the bush and all that, not bad for humoring the old fellow.”
Gunther said nothing. He drove on, picking his way among clumps of brush. It was toward noon. The three of them were sweating. Dust, churned up by the Land Rover, like a screen of dust, drifted behind the vehicle. They did not speak for some time.
“I do not believe the Herjellsen artifact is genuine,” said William, slowly. “It is impossible that it should be genuine.”
Gunther laughed. “I see now,” he said, “why you stay in the bush.”
“Yes,” said William, looking out the window. “What if it should be genuine?” He turned to look at Gunther. His lips were tight, thin, pale. “What, Gunther,” he asked, “if it should be genuine?”
Gunther laughed. “My dear William,” he said, “that is the difference between us! I hope eagerly that it is genuine! You, on the other hand, just as eagerly hope that it is not!”
“I do not know what I hope,” said William. “Sometimes I, too, hope that it is genuine. At other times I am terrified lest it be genuine.”
Gunther laughed.
“If it should be genuine,” said William, slowly, “do you realize its meaning?”
“I think so,” said Gunther. “I think I do.” “I think I do, too,” said Hamilton.
“Be silent,” said Gunther. Hamilton flushed.
“Please, Gunther,” snapped William. “Be civil at least.” “She is an ignorant woman,” said Gunther.
“I have a Ph.D. from the California Institute of Technology,” said Hamilton angrily. “I have a doctorate in mathematics.”
“You are an ignorant girl. Be quiet,” said Gunther. “I am a colleague,” said Hamilton.
“You understand nothing,” said Gunther.
Hamilton looked at him angrily.
“You were a fool to come to the bush,” said Gunther.
“You can’t speak to me like that!” cried Hamilton.
“Quiet, little fool,” said Gunther.
“I’m needed!” said Hamilton.
“Yes, little fool,” said Gunther. “You are needed. That is true.”
“There!” cried William. “Look there!”
Gunther, in the instant that William had spoken, had seen. In the same instant he had cut the engine to the Land Rover and stepped on the brakes.
“Excellent,” said Gunther. “I had not hoped to have such luck.”
“What are you looking for?” asked Hamilton.
“An animal for the second series of experiments,” said William, “preferably a large animal, between one hundred and one hundred and fifty pounds in weight.”
“What do you see?” asked Hamilton, peering through the dusty, insect-stained windshield.
“There, in that tree, some ten feet from the ground,” whispered William, pointing, “on that branch.”
Hamilton looked closely. “It’s a calf,” she said. “A native calf. But it can’t be. It’s on the branch. And it’s dead. How could it be on the branch?”
“Look more closely,” said William.
Hamilton looked more closely. Across the body of the dead calf, half lost in the sunlight and shadows, sleepy, gorged, peering at them, was a leopard.
“Superb,” said Gunther.
“They pull their kills into the branches of trees, to keep them from scavengers,” said William. “They are incredibly powerful, lithe brutes, extremely dangerous.”