mammoths.”
“Szaszy likes to think they’re his mammoths.”
“You’re stepping in his field,” said Glenn.
“Szasz deserves stepping on. The mammoths are wasted on him. He never bothered to listen to them. This is a language. And I think I’ve isolated a few actual words. Predator. Water. And I think there’s a difference between big water and little water. This is little water right here.”
He nodded at the creek that fed the larger stream. The she-mammoth dragged her trunk in the clear running current.
“I’m pretty sure big water means the river way down below camp. They also have sky water.”
“Rain?”
“That would be my guess.”
Their she-mammoth companion moved away from the creek. She looped her trunk around a bunch of wheaty grass and made an unmistakable gesture of offering it to Patrick.
“For me?” Patrick said with a terrified smile. “Really?” he took the offered grass. He glanced at Glenn, unnerved. “It’s probably only polite to eat it, hm?”
Glenn could tell that he wanted her to talk him out of it.
Instead she said, “Are you carrying a panic button?”
“Yeah.”
“Give it to me.”
In case stabs of poisoning came over him, Glenn could signal for help—though she was not sure how fast the LEN would send out a rescue party.
Not the answer Patrick was looking for. “You mean you want me to do this?”
“John Farragut has been known to swallow alien substances not to give offense to aliens,” Glenn said.
“I’m not John Farragut,” Patrick said.
Glenn said nothing.
Patrick said, “You didn’t pick up the obvious straight line. You must still love me.”
“Eat your wheat,” Glenn said.
“Or maybe you don’t.”
“Well, I can’t volunteer to eat it for you. She’s your girlfriend. And she’s getting testy.”
The hembra pushed Patrick’s hand, the one holding the wheat, to his face.
“Smells good,” he said, weakly hopeful.
A tasty smell usually meant something was edible on Earth. This was not Earth. Perceptions here were likely skewed.
Glenn gave his shoulder a hard pat. “Bon appetit.”
“Okay then. If I keel over, we get to see how good a doctor Cecil really is.”
His body visibly tensed. Patrick bit into the seed heads.
He chewed gingerly. A look of mild surprise relaxed his face. “This isn’t bad.”
He swallowed. Paused cautiously as if listening to his stomach.
“How do you feel?” Glenn asked.
“Good!” said Patrick, surprised. He gathered up some more seed heads for himself.
Glenn smelled his breath. The crushed seeds gave off an oaty, wheaty, sesame aroma.
The scent made her mouth water. She hoped her nose was not mistranslating the alien smell.
“This is going down easy,” Patrick said.
Glenn already knew that local flora had many proteins in common with Earth and that some of the native plants were edible. But she and Patrick didn’t know which ones. And ingesting alien organics was not the generally accepted way of conducting a composition analysis. You could not judge alien organics by terrestrial measures.
Well, you could, but you could also be dead.
After hours of wandering with the mammoths, anxiously monitoring Patrick’s vital signs, and listening to her own stomach rumble with hunger, Glenn asked, “Anything hurt?”
“My legs,” Patrick said.
Not a surprise. Patrick was no athlete. This hike was the farthest he’d walked since she’d known him.
“How do you feel?”
“Great, actually. You?”
“I’m hungry!” Glenn snarled along with her stomach.
She gave Patrick one last checkup. His heartbeat was regular. His pupils looked normal and he wasn’t sweating. His energy was good. Better than hers.
As they’d been walking, he had peeled the husks off a bunch of seeds for her. He emptied a pocketful of them into her cupped hands. She wolfed into them, chewing blissfully, her head full of wheaty, oaty, sesame scent.
As soon as she swallowed, she felt a subtle rush like
“Szaszy likes to think they’re his mammoths.”
“You’re stepping in his field,” said Glenn.
“Szasz deserves stepping on. The mammoths are wasted on him. He never bothered to listen to them. This is a language. And I think I’ve isolated a few actual words. Predator. Water. And I think there’s a difference between big water and little water. This is little water right here.”
He nodded at the creek that fed the larger stream. The she-mammoth dragged her trunk in the clear running current.
“I’m pretty sure big water means the river way down below camp. They also have sky water.”
“Rain?”
“That would be my guess.”
Their she-mammoth companion moved away from the creek. She looped her trunk around a bunch of wheaty grass and made an unmistakable gesture of offering it to Patrick.
“For me?” Patrick said with a terrified smile. “Really?” he took the offered grass. He glanced at Glenn, unnerved. “It’s probably only polite to eat it, hm?”
Glenn could tell that he wanted her to talk him out of it.
Instead she said, “Are you carrying a panic button?”
“Yeah.”
“Give it to me.”
In case stabs of poisoning came over him, Glenn could signal for help—though she was not sure how fast the LEN would send out a rescue party.
Not the answer Patrick was looking for. “You mean you want me to do this?”
“John Farragut has been known to swallow alien substances not to give offense to aliens,” Glenn said.
“I’m not John Farragut,” Patrick said.
Glenn said nothing.
Patrick said, “You didn’t pick up the obvious straight line. You must still love me.”
“Eat your wheat,” Glenn said.
“Or maybe you don’t.”
“Well, I can’t volunteer to eat it for you. She’s your girlfriend. And she’s getting testy.”
The hembra pushed Patrick’s hand, the one holding the wheat, to his face.
“Smells good,” he said, weakly hopeful.
A tasty smell usually meant something was edible on Earth. This was not Earth. Perceptions here were likely skewed.
Glenn gave his shoulder a hard pat. “Bon appetit.”
“Okay then. If I keel over, we get to see how good a doctor Cecil really is.”
His body visibly tensed. Patrick bit into the seed heads.
He chewed gingerly. A look of mild surprise relaxed his face. “This isn’t bad.”
He swallowed. Paused cautiously as if listening to his stomach.
“How do you feel?” Glenn asked.
“Good!” said Patrick, surprised. He gathered up some more seed heads for himself.
Glenn smelled his breath. The crushed seeds gave off an oaty, wheaty, sesame aroma.
The scent made her mouth water. She hoped her nose was not mistranslating the alien smell.
“This is going down easy,” Patrick said.
Glenn already knew that local flora had many proteins in common with Earth and that some of the native plants were edible. But she and Patrick didn’t know which ones. And ingesting alien organics was not the generally accepted way of conducting a composition analysis. You could not judge alien organics by terrestrial measures.
Well, you could, but you could also be dead.
After hours of wandering with the mammoths, anxiously monitoring Patrick’s vital signs, and listening to her own stomach rumble with hunger, Glenn asked, “Anything hurt?”
“My legs,” Patrick said.
Not a surprise. Patrick was no athlete. This hike was the farthest he’d walked since she’d known him.
“How do you feel?”
“Great, actually. You?”
“I’m hungry!” Glenn snarled along with her stomach.
She gave Patrick one last checkup. His heartbeat was regular. His pupils looked normal and he wasn’t sweating. His energy was good. Better than hers.
As they’d been walking, he had peeled the husks off a bunch of seeds for her. He emptied a pocketful of them into her cupped hands. She wolfed into them, chewing blissfully, her head full of wheaty, oaty, sesame scent.
As soon as she swallowed, she felt a subtle rush like
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