Yuen-Mong's Revenge (4 page)

     
Rather than follow her into the cave, his gaze was caught by the
breathtaking image of the Aros ring, dark golden in the late afternoon
sun. While they had come north, he had not really noticed this unique
feature. But from this vantage point it formed a majestic half circle
centered above the white sand beach that stretched for several kilometers
to the south. The dark blue of the sea reminded him of her eyes.

2

Yuen-mong dipped a cup—the only one remaining from the ones her
parents had rescued from their wrecked craft — into the wooden trough
at the cool back of the cave and drank it slowly, savoring each swallow.
Then she filled the cup again and took it out to the balcony. Atun was
still looking at the view. When she offered him the cup, he took it eagerly
and drank it down in one go. "I needed this," he said, smiling at her.

     
"You should drink in small swallows if you are dehydrated."

 
     
His smile turned into a frown. She could feel his resentment return,
not as strong as it had been all afternoon when she had forced him to
follow her.
He does not like to be told.
"Come inside, I will give you
something to still your hunger." She noticed his surprised look, but he
followed her and stood his muddy pack against the cave wall.
I will have
to clean that.

     
She took a round flat bread, made from spiced timoru mash, topped
it with a thin slice of salted dried fish and offered it to him on a wooden
board. He frowned again, looking at it suspiciously.
He does not trust me.
As if to confirm that, he said: "No worry, I don’t want to eat away your
food. I’ll take an energy bar from my pack."

 
     
"It is good," she encouraged him.

     
"It’s OK. I’m fine." He retrieved a thin package from his pack, ripped
open its glossy wrap and took a bite.

     
She shrugged her shoulders and started eating the bread herself, wondering how food from another world tasted, but did not say anything.
Sooner, rather than later, he would have to eat her food. Just let him get
used to his new world.

     
While munching, she blew life into the coals in her fireplace and
added small pieces of thorntree branches, a dense, slow burning
hardwood that produced hot coals which glowed for hours. Then she
filled her water pan, a square metal container that her father had
fashioned from metal salvaged from their crashed craft, and set it over
the fire. By the time the water was going to boil, the fire would be
reduced to coals, ready for roasting the choice meat pieces she had cut
from the fat thighs of the wader. The meat had to be cooked or pickled
and dried promptly, or else it would spoil in the mild climate.

     
When she turned around, Atun held his laser gun and inspected it. She
picked up the wrapper he had discarded on the floor. "We need to keep
this place clean," she remarked, shoving it into the fire.

     
He did not react, but she could sense his renewed annoyance. He was
so easy to read.

     
"Why didn’t you use the gun on that vulture since you had it? Are
there many of those around here," he asked.

     
"Because it does not work."

 
     
"You mean, you don’t know how to work it. I can assure you a full-charge zap would even take care of a bird that size."

 
     
"No, that is not the reason. The gun does not work on Aros."

 
     
He only smiled, not even hiding his feeling of superiority. "Why did
you bring me here? Where are your people?"

 
     
Why does he always ask two questions?
"I brought you here because
you do not know the night dangers of this world. There would be nothing
left of you by the morning."

 
     
Again that telling smile of disbelief. This was an unknown experience
for her. Her parents would never have doubted such a statement of fact,
nor would she have doubted them.

     
"Oh, I would have been quite capable of defending myself against
those vultures or those savages. One zap of the gun would have scared
them off. Anyway I would have been perfectly secure in my craft."

 
     
"The night dangers are different."

 
     
"You mean demons and ghosts," he mocked her.

     
"No, different. I will show you later." Did he take her for a superstitious savage? But she decided not to defend herself. She was more
interested to know about his craft. "You crashed early this morning?"

 
     
"Yes, how did you know?"

 
     
"I know. Is your craft damaged?"

 
     
"No, hardly a scratch. It was a perfect emergency landing, almost
horizontal. I’ll be able to take off soon, just need to fix a few things."

 
     
He is lying.
"The AI system does not work anymore, right?"

 
     
"Yes, nothing serious… But how did you guess." His face showed
genuine surprise.

     
"Because, no electronic devices work on Aros. Its rapidly oscillating
magnetic field disables them."

 
     
He laughed. "You’re an expert in electronics?"

 
     
"You do not believe me?" She raised her voice . "Does your wristunit
work?"

 
     
He looked at the device, pressing the on button several times. No
holoscreen, but he dismissed it. It had been a cheap one, and prone to
failure.

     
"Could you communicate with your mother ship?" she continued.

     
He shook his head.

     
"My father said that the magnetic field of Aros disables all electronics."

 
     
Again she could feel that he did not believe her, but he did not voice
it. Instead he asked: "Did he also crash on Aros?"

 
     
"Yes, he and my mother."

 
     
"How long ago?"

 
     
"Before I was born. About twenty standard years ago."

 
     
"You mean twenty years on Aros? You can’t mean standard years."

 
     
"No, standard years."

 
     
"You know about standard years?"

 
     
"Yes, my father taught me."

 
     
"When will your father be here? Where are your people?"

 
     
"I have no people."

 
     
"But your father? Your mother?"

 
     
"Both died, seven standard years ago."

 
     
"Oh, I’m sorry." But she sensed that he was only trying to be polite.
"So you live all alone?" Although intonated as a question, she knew he
did not expect an answer.

     
By then, the water was boiling, and the wood pieces were glowing
coals. "I cook now," she said and turned away from him. She added a
handful of inner bark slivers from the silverleaf tree to the boiling water
and set the container aside. Then she cut the meat into thin strips and
spread four of them on a grid of rigid intersecting spear grasses. He stood
at her side, watching. When she put the knife down, he studied it.

     
"Interesting. This is the knife of a survival kit. I’ve a similar one." He
tested its cutting edge with a finger. "How do you keep this so sharp?"

 
     
"I sharpen it on a stone," she replied, while placing the grid a hand
width above the coals. The grasses turned slowly dark, but did not burn.
Within seconds, the meat sizzled, spreading a mouth-watering smell of
barbecue. After a few minutes, she turned the strips. She also placed two
of the flat breads close to the heat.

     
Next she filled two nicely decorated earthenware mugs with the brew
she had made earlier and added a few sweetberries to each. Then she
removed two meat strips, placing one on each bread, and moved the grid
to a higher position above the coals. She handed him a cup of the bark tea
and a wooden board with one of the portions, saying: "No vegetables
today."

 
     
He took it reluctantly. She could sense his intense suspicion. She also
noticed that he never said "thank you", something that had been drilled
into her by her mother. Ignoring him, she took a hearty bite. She had not
eaten all day, except for the salted fish bread he had refused, and was still
hungry. The naturally salty meat of the wader tasted delicious, and she
chewed it slowly, while adding another two fresh slices over the coals.

     
After an awkward moment he took a small bite, frowned first and then
remarked "This is good," and started eating rapidly. "Is this the meat you
stole from those men? Why did they let you?"

 
     
"I did not steal from them. I was hunting that wader after it had
escaped the craw—the big vulture that crashed in the river swamp. When
they saw me, they knew it was mine."

 
     
He took another big bite, talking while chewing: "But they killed it.
Why would they let you take part of it?"

 
     
She was temporarily distracted by his coarse eating habits. Her mother
had taught her that it was not polite to talk with a full mouth, that only
ignorant people did that, but he could not be ignorant if he piloted space
ships.

     
"Why did they?" he repeated his question.

     
"Because they are afraid of me."

 
     
"Afraid of you? But there were six of them, all armed. Why didn’t
they challenge you?"

 
     
"I would have killed them."

 
     
"All six? Come on, you don’t expect me to believe that."

 
     
Why does he doubt what I say? Do people where he comes from tell
untruths?
"None wanted to be the first to die."

 
     
He laughed. "I guess that’s true. But who are those people? Are they
really human? Are they the natives? How many are there?"

 
     
"No, they got stranded here like you and there are only a few hundred.
It is difficult to survive in this world. My father guessed that they are
descendants of crash survivors sent to colonize this world a long time
ago. My mother thought that they came from the area called Brasilia on
Old Earth, because their language resembles one of the dead Latin
languages."

 
     
"Yea, then they would have been here for quite a while already." He
took another big bite and continued: "They seem to have regressed to a
savage status of hunters and gatherers. Do they also live in caves?"

 
     
He had finished his first slice, and she offered him another, which he
took without a word. "No, this is the only cave I know that is big enough
and safe," she answered, watching him devour the food in big swallows.
"You should chew the meat thoroughly to get full nutrition from it."

 
     
He smiled embarrassed, but continued eating in big bites without talking for a while. He accepted a third portion, but declined the fourth. He
even drank the bark tea.

     
She was only starting on her second slice when he asked: "How did
you know I crash landed? Did you see me come down?"

 
     
"No, I heard your scream."

 
     
"Heard my scream? … I can’t remember screaming, and even if I had,
you could hardly have heard. You mean you heard my craft come down
screaming?"

 
     
"No, I felt your scream of fear."

 
     
He looked at her sharply.