before that happened.
And then they’d landed and it turned out there had been a god damned zombie mouse in one of the holds—not the one that was locked but an exterior hold. It had come scuttling out the moment they’d popped the hold’s hatch, small, black, hissing. At that moment it would have been easy enough to kill, but Veela had frozen with terror, snapping out of it only in time to see the zombie mouse go skittering under the cover of dry leaves. Then it was like it had never been there. Until the other undead had started showing up.
Now it was all happening again. Or, rather, for the first time.
Veela reached the campsite and fetched the spears, but wouldn’t pause to closely examine them till she was once more far from the zombie deer, much to Dak’s annoyance. She sat on a rock in the shade and hefted one of the spears, looking it over. “Doesn’t seem too complicated.”
“It will take more practice than you probably think.”
“I guess I just find some rocks and chip at one till it’s sharp, right? And shaped like a spearhead? And then I can use that to shape a long piece of wood. That should be easy to find, I’m in a forest. And then I’ll tie the spearhead to the piece of wood.” As she spoke, she tried to gauge how long each step was going to take. She had no clue, but she suspected a while.
“What are you going to attach the spearhead with?”
“Um. It looks like this one’s attached with animal hide.” Pretty firmly attached, too. Veela admired, and was intimidated by, the complicated knot. “I guess I would have to complete the spear before I could kill and skin an animal.” That prospect didn’t exactly make her queasy, not after everything she’d lived through, but she did wonder how she was going to learn to properly skin something, unless she found those two guys again and they taught her. Not to mention that the skins must have been treated somehow to turn them into binding material, otherwise they would have just rotted. “So I’ll use some vines to tie this first one.”
“Where will you find the vines?”
“I don’t know, I’m in a forest, there must be vines around! Anyway, there must have been a first caveman to ever make a spear, and he didn’t have any animal skins to work with, or know how to do it. We’ll figure it out.”
“Actually, I already did figure it out—that is, I called it up from the databanks. There are plenty of anthropology books featuring reconstructions of the process.”
He had been asking his questions not out of curiosity, or because he was thinking aloud, but as a pompous, time-wasting Socratic game. Veela smoldered with resentment. “All right,” she said. “That’s good.”
“There’s a bed of chert only about eighty meters from you, north-northwest.”
Of course, Dak said “chert” in their own language, so Veela had no idea it was the same word as Chert’s name, translated. Besides, even in her own language, she didn’t know the word: “What’s ‘chert’?”
“A type of stone. That weapon you’re holding has a chert spearhead.”
“Okay. And is north-northwest to my left, or my right?”
Dak guided Veela to the bed of chert. Naturally, no vegetation grew from the stone, and she peered around fearfully before leaving the cover of the trees. Veela put her helmet on and lowered the visor in preparation for chipping at the stone, thinking there might be flying rock chips.
“All right,” said Dak. “Now, find a boulder, one you can pick up and rest in your lap....”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Veela, please. Obviously I don’t mean a boulder in the vulgar sense, that of a rock weighing a ton or so. I’m using the proper, geological sense. Find an egg-shaped or slightly elongated boulder weighing about five pounds. Place this boulder upon your leg, and, using a stone that is smaller but harder than the boulder, strike the wider end off at a right angle to the longest axis. Don’t give in to the
And then they’d landed and it turned out there had been a god damned zombie mouse in one of the holds—not the one that was locked but an exterior hold. It had come scuttling out the moment they’d popped the hold’s hatch, small, black, hissing. At that moment it would have been easy enough to kill, but Veela had frozen with terror, snapping out of it only in time to see the zombie mouse go skittering under the cover of dry leaves. Then it was like it had never been there. Until the other undead had started showing up.
Now it was all happening again. Or, rather, for the first time.
Veela reached the campsite and fetched the spears, but wouldn’t pause to closely examine them till she was once more far from the zombie deer, much to Dak’s annoyance. She sat on a rock in the shade and hefted one of the spears, looking it over. “Doesn’t seem too complicated.”
“It will take more practice than you probably think.”
“I guess I just find some rocks and chip at one till it’s sharp, right? And shaped like a spearhead? And then I can use that to shape a long piece of wood. That should be easy to find, I’m in a forest. And then I’ll tie the spearhead to the piece of wood.” As she spoke, she tried to gauge how long each step was going to take. She had no clue, but she suspected a while.
“What are you going to attach the spearhead with?”
“Um. It looks like this one’s attached with animal hide.” Pretty firmly attached, too. Veela admired, and was intimidated by, the complicated knot. “I guess I would have to complete the spear before I could kill and skin an animal.” That prospect didn’t exactly make her queasy, not after everything she’d lived through, but she did wonder how she was going to learn to properly skin something, unless she found those two guys again and they taught her. Not to mention that the skins must have been treated somehow to turn them into binding material, otherwise they would have just rotted. “So I’ll use some vines to tie this first one.”
“Where will you find the vines?”
“I don’t know, I’m in a forest, there must be vines around! Anyway, there must have been a first caveman to ever make a spear, and he didn’t have any animal skins to work with, or know how to do it. We’ll figure it out.”
“Actually, I already did figure it out—that is, I called it up from the databanks. There are plenty of anthropology books featuring reconstructions of the process.”
He had been asking his questions not out of curiosity, or because he was thinking aloud, but as a pompous, time-wasting Socratic game. Veela smoldered with resentment. “All right,” she said. “That’s good.”
“There’s a bed of chert only about eighty meters from you, north-northwest.”
Of course, Dak said “chert” in their own language, so Veela had no idea it was the same word as Chert’s name, translated. Besides, even in her own language, she didn’t know the word: “What’s ‘chert’?”
“A type of stone. That weapon you’re holding has a chert spearhead.”
“Okay. And is north-northwest to my left, or my right?”
Dak guided Veela to the bed of chert. Naturally, no vegetation grew from the stone, and she peered around fearfully before leaving the cover of the trees. Veela put her helmet on and lowered the visor in preparation for chipping at the stone, thinking there might be flying rock chips.
“All right,” said Dak. “Now, find a boulder, one you can pick up and rest in your lap....”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Veela, please. Obviously I don’t mean a boulder in the vulgar sense, that of a rock weighing a ton or so. I’m using the proper, geological sense. Find an egg-shaped or slightly elongated boulder weighing about five pounds. Place this boulder upon your leg, and, using a stone that is smaller but harder than the boulder, strike the wider end off at a right angle to the longest axis. Don’t give in to the
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