We were awakened, this "morning," by a shriek from Shirley. I think all of us had been drowsing, half-awake, for some hours, but were not fully aware in the soft light and gentle rain of what time it might be. Muscles sore from yesterday's unaccustomed strenuous activity were aching all over me. Shirley's scream brought us all to our feet, but to my horror she lay flat, thrashing as though confined. She looked unharmed, but then I saw that her thick braid of blond hair was tightly held down by a thick tendril of vine! We tried to pull her free, but the plant was as tough and strong as wire.
"My Mech-All!" Shirley spluttered. "It's in my back belt pouch!"
She twisted her body violently on the ground, managed to grasp the precious tool, and held it up. She manipulated a control on the side of the handle and the metal blob at the tip reconfigured itself into a serrated knife. Nels knelt, seized the knife, and sawed through the vine with difficulty. When it was severed, Shirley was able to rise, and we could pull the marauding strand down along the braid and off; however, the little tendril remained tightly coiled and rigid, like a spring. I looked at the cut-off end and remembered the sped-up sequence of pictures we had all observed—with such clinical detachment!—back aboard Prometheus. This was obviously one of those war-like plants.
"It must have been trying to strangle my braid!" Shirley said, her hands moving from the thick plait to her throat. "I think, if we have to spend another night here, I'll find a spot on the beach!"
Mentally, I decided to do the same, and I saw Cinnamon run a thoughtful hand along her own long braids.
Nels picked up the end of the vine from which we had freed Shirley, and gave it an experimental tug. "Humph! Considerable resistance there." I looked along the visible length of the vine—it disappeared underground within a few feet—and was surprised at how thin it was; nowhere near as thick as the coil.
"Why do you suppose the vine is so thin, and then expands at the coil?" I asked,
"Don't know," he said. "Unless it was sort of exploring, and then when it detected something, it enlarged somehow to deal with it." Shirley looked at the difference between the fragile root and her attacker, and shuddered.
We turned to regard the mass of undergrowth with increased respect. Suddenly . . ."Look there!" said David softly. Regarding us from under cover of one of the giant leaves was a single, large, bright eye. Arielle slipped silently towards it, and stopped. In an instant, the eye had vanished, and we heard the now-familiar rustling fade away.
"Did you see it clearly?" asked Cinnamon.
"Too fast." Arielle turned to us, her own eyes wide. "But the legs—like bug? I dunno!"
That is interesting; we'll have to try to get a better look at the little creatures. It might be possible to pursue one if the undergrowth were not quite so thick and soggy.
For it is still raining. Not a downpour, just the slow, steady sort that can fall from leaden skies for days. Morning, after our much-needed rest, brought us the renewed optimism it usually does, and we breakfasted more heartily among our peculiar provisions. Arielle's determined rummaging among the disorder reminded me how hungry I really was, and I joined John in the dividing of a cold but meaty sandwich, while I saw Jinjur munching on an equally cold pseudo-sausage. Not really cold, of course, but I did find my thoughts turning speculatively towards fire.
I was not alone in this, I learned. Jinjur opened the discussion.
"The first thing we must do, as soon as possible, is to get a message to Prometheus. They'll know we've crashed, of course, but they won't know if, or how many of us have survived. I think the quickest way to signal them is by a precise pattern of fires along the beach."
This was a startling thought to me—it sounds so primitive! But I could think of nothing more effective to hand, and even this ancient tool was going to take some ingenuity to achieve.
"We can only hope all the dead plants around here are really flammable," said John. "And that we can find anything dry enough to ignite."
David had been scanning the sky intently, shielding his eyes from the raindrops.
"I'm all for a fire," he said. "But I don't see any real break in the low clouds; they're just sitting overhead and pouring. When I do get a glimpse of the higher layers they're moving fast."
"That's bad," grumbled Jinjur. "Any fast-moving cloud will not only obscure our message, it makes it really tough for Prometheus to respond so that we can detect it."
"How is that?" I asked.
"Well, if we make some precise shape in fire, it's going to be lost if it's intermittent."
"Tough, too, to keep a fire going for any length of time in this rain," added John, with his usual cool realism.
"And," said Carmen, "what sort of answer can we expect from Prometheus? They could try to send some landers down, but those high winds would blow their aeroshells and parachutes far away from us, even assuming we knew they were coming!" The daunting facts of our isolation are, I realize, beginning to sink in. We all know, all too well, how truly desperate is our plight, but we cannot admit it, even to ourselves.
Jinjur decided, arbitrarily. "We need a fire, so let's get going on that first. The meat I ate just now would definitely have been improved by being heated, and I think it would be safer, too. Once we have a small fire, we'll just plan to wait until the weather improves enough to try to send a clear signal. How are any of you at fire-building?"
A wave of dismay swept the faces around. Even as children, or students, we had taken such an elemental tool for granted. Indeed, open fires are a rarity on Earth at present—so primitive and energy-wasteful they are.
Cinnamon volunteered hesitantly, "I did it once, at home, just to see how it was done. But it took me hours!"
"So be it," said Jinjur firmly. "Hours are one thing we've got. Richard, you and I will go back down to the shore and see if we can get the flouwen back to salvage duty for us. The rest of you help Cinnamon." The two of them moved off, Jinjur's short legs taking two steps to his one; I watched them for a moment. Her brown face, at about his elbow level, looked up at her companion with a grin. It is not difficult to see that our diminutive commander takes a very feminine pleasure, even in these hazardous circumstances, in the strong arms still under her command!
I followed the others toward the strange plants, and began looking under the sheltering leaves for dry tinder. At Cinnamon's direction we collected a variety of possible fuels—some very small and others more massive. The slim brown hands sorted through the offerings we brought her, and began to arrange them in separate piles on a flat rock, temporarily shielded with big leaves. While we patiently shredded quite a lot of stuff into very fine fibers, she bent some more limber twigs into a curious shape with painstaking care. When she was ready, we moved to assist her, using the broad leaves to protect her and her work from the rain and the steadily increasing wind. I watched, with great interest, as she bent over the sticks on the dry stone. Faster and faster she spun the little bow she had contrived around its fellow. Of course, if this method failed, we could eventually collect a spark from a lightning-caused blaze, but it seemed important to us all that this should not fail—I think, as humans, we want to feel "in charge" of our situation again!
Then, I thought my eyes were mistaken, but no, truly, a thin line of gray drifted up from Cinnamon's busy hands. She bent closer, and gently laid the finest of fibers from the pile near her across the arc. It blackened, shriveled, and more smoke arose! Tenderly, carefully, she added the tiny fibers, and suddenly, there was a tiny flicker of light. None of us dared move, or breathe too deeply, lest we endanger the little fire, but it grew steadily. It was incredibly beautiful! None of us has seen an open flame for years, nor, honestly, have we missed seeing one, but the warmth and life and beauty of the little yellow flame held our gaze. It was amazingly bright compared to the dull red light from Barnard that we had become accustomed to. As the fire grew, and shifted, and began to crackle on the larger fuel, we became aware of the smoky smell, achingly familiar and yet sharply new. It was acrid, and made Arielle cough as it drifted into her face, but it was also deliciously spicy, and the thought of hot tea floated into my mind. The crackling sparks sounded sharp and clear, and then drifted upward with their ancient loveliness.
Easily, now, we added fuel, and propped our protecting leaves with stones and sandpiles, to keep the fuel stack dry and to keep most of the wind and rain from the blaze. Cinnamon stood, and stretched, and grinned proudly at us. Nels took a long step to her side and hugged her tightly.
"Good job, Cin! We're proud of you!" We joined in, in exuberant congratulation. John said suddenly, "Makes me feel independent again!"
"Right," agreed David. "We're on our way now."
"Like Prometheus," I added. Carmen looked puzzled. "The original one, I mean," I said, "The one who gave men fire."
"That's right," said John. "And went on to encourage science and skill."
"The essences of civilization," I said. "We really are back on a path." It seems rather grandiose to attach so much importance to this humble little blaze, but we feel amazing fondness and pride for our—creation! That is what it is, and we shared our moment of triumph in a brief enjoyment of the warmth.
I thought it curious, our behavior—even as I shared it! We are all strangely silent about the future that confronts us, although I suspect we have all thought about it a great deal in the last day, and even more so in the night. We face the very real possibility of living the rest of our lives on this strange and beautiful world, and whether those lives will be days, months, or years longer is speculation about which we cannot even be logical. But none of us is willing to say anything aloud! Partly, I suppose, it is our habits of independence; partly a desire to alarm no one unnecessarily; and partly, a sensible feeling that we can only await developments. For whatever reasons, our conversations have focussed very much on the immediate present. It does no good to discuss how the crash occurred, and we have abandoned the topic. We all are wholly aware of the resources left to George and the rest, and the lack of any real rescue mission they can possibly mount. We know the futility of lamentations, and when, I think, each of us feels a twinge of fear, we are heartened by the resolution of the others, and then we do our own share of heartening. Those last few cautious words around the now flourishing fire are the first which acknowledge the facts beginning to face us. Slowly, but with genuine pleasure, I looked at the faces in the firelight. There are strengths here, and courage, and competent minds and hands. I too am capable, and together we can do much.
At that point, Jinjur and Richard trudged up the beach to join us, laden with soggy flotsam the flouwen had hauled forth.
"The lander has slowed down, Little Red says, but is still going slowly toward the bottom. Sounds like the deepest part of the lagoon is pretty much in the center, and the sides the lander is sliding over must be smooth enough that it doesn't hang up on anything. From its shape, I'm now certain it's the crater of a volcano, like the rest of the place, only this volcano is on the side of an even bigger volcano that makes up the central mountain on this island. And, that being the case, if they are the right kind of volcano, we might find something really useful, when we have time to look around a bit for it.
"Useful?" Arielle queried.
"Obsidian," he answered briefly.
Carmen's face brightened. "Obsidian? That could be very useful indeed! There was a whole display of antique knives and axes in the museum in San Diego—beautiful, it is, but more important, it can be chipped to a really sharp edge!"
That's true, I remembered. Obsidian was used so early on by primitive tribes that it's not known when they began, but obviously they recognized, as we now do, the value of a substance that can so easily be made into a good, sharp knife.
Jinjur looked with pleasure, then, at the fire, her eyes softening. "A gradely sight!" she murmured. "I remember . . ." she broke off. All of us had done some remembering, when the small flames had settled down to their steady dance. I straightened briskly, and set off down the beach.
With Shirley's capable help I pulled a soggy roll of blankets from the creaming shallows where the flouwen had left them. Between us, we managed to twist the fabrics and squeeze the water from them.
"As we went to Necessary Beach this morning, I saw what looked like a pond off to the left—did you see it?" I asked. (I am being stubborn about the euphemism for that beach; it's clumsy, but I prefer it to the much more Anglo-Saxon epithet with which David had startled me!)
"No, I didn't notice," answered Shirley. "But if it's fresh water we could rinse these blankets out—or shall we just let the rain do the job?"
"Might as well," I admitted. "Although, if we do that, it will probably stop raining! You know how cooperative weather is!"
Awkwardly, we draped the thick blankets over rocks, to rinse and drain, if they will. The rain shows no sign of letting up, so perhaps it will do some work for us. Jinjur glances skyward all the time, I notice—searching for some break in the clouds.
Those heavy blankets, after their soaking in salt water, are matted, and smell most peculiar. We are all noticing this; after so many years of filtered air, our olfactory senses are almost overburdened now. As David said, cheerfully, "When I smell that water I realize I'm getting used to the air!"
The "salt" water in the lagoon, to distinguish it from the springwater, is definitely not the same as our oceans on earth. Between us, we have swum in many seas, and we agree on that point.
"I spent a summer near Annapolis, once," John reminisced. "And we did a lot of swimming in the Bay, where the rivers come in. Thick as soup, the stuff was—you couldn't see far enough ahead in it to avoid the jellyfish, sometimes, and it tasted . . ." He apparently couldn't think of an apt comparison. "But you get used enough to it not to mind particularly, and . . ."
"Why did you even try to swim in it?" Shirley interrupted, curiously.
He shrugged. "Gets pretty hot and muggy there in August." I remember that, myself, having spent the summer in the Capitol awaiting the start of the Barnard mission. In many ways, I realize, this climate is similar. I never notice heat, but even I am grateful for the access to both sea and pond.
"At any rate," John concluded, "This water tastes worse than that water, and while I might get used to it, I doubt if I'll ever like it."
Cinnamon and Carmen have retrieved many containers from the efforts of the flouwen, and have arranged them in a long row according to no other criterion than size. Some of the things can be used for water, others have no immediately recognizable value to us here, but we cannot afford to discard them; we may have to contrive some very basic necessities. Some of the stored foods from the lander are still sealed in their tough wrappings, and we will be able to use them. I was surprised and pleased to observe, among these, several large packets of the oats and barley that had been among my personal stores.
"Look, Cinnamon!" I said. "These came through intact—we'll be able to have porridge, or soup, or something!" She looked at the packets with a curious intensity, and took them from me without a word. However, other foods such as the fresh fruit, were less carefully stowed, and are sodden and spoiled. For the time being, we placed these in a separate pile, to be destroyed later. Jinjur's command is adamant: "Our rule has always been to disturb an alien planet only as much as is absolutely necessary. We are already doing much more 'disturbing' than I like, but we'll keep it to a minimum, understand? At least," she added in sudden doubt, "For now." We are all complying, though privately wondering how long we can continue to be so scrupulous.
As I was returning to the stack of discards with a very salty bit of overripe fruit, I saw a sudden movement—one of the little creatures was examining the stuff! It was so intent on its survey that I was able to move quite close, silent and undetected. I observed the blue-green fuzz which covered it, and saw that it has six appendages, which it uses like four legs and two arms; these are stiff and jointed, very like an insect's. When it turned towards me I saw that it does indeed have just one eye, and that very large and dark and bright. Instantly, it clutched an overripe strawberry in its front legs and scuttled off on the other four, looking so like an insect that I understood Arielle's simile. It made no attempt, that I saw, to put anything into its mouth—in fact, I didn't even observe a mouth—but it certainly was quick of movement.
I reported my observations. Nels was most intrigued. "We need to catch one, I think. Just to take a closer look!" he added quickly, as Jinjur frowned.
Cinnamon had joined us in bringing up armloads of stuff from the beach, but by common consent she has returned to the care of our fire. None of us is willing to let it go out, even though we are not cold, and we have quickly learned that it can be a temperamental element. I happened to be nearby, when, as I thought, it needed fuel, so I tossed on several large pieces. To my dismay the coals rolled apart and began to smoke dismally. Fortunately, Cinnamon was close by and came running to sweep the coals together and coax the flame anew, but I resolved not to interfere again. Indeed, I watched with sympathy, later, as Arielle, in similar circumstances, added such tiny twigs that they were instantly consumed, and she had to hurry back and forth for half an hour while the fire continued to languish. It was in sad state by the time Cinnamon came to the rescue again. We were both relieved when she announced she would take care of it. Indeed, what with the constant search for more fuel she will have no time for other work, at least until we can build up a reserve of suitable size. Carmen and John seem to be nearly as adept at nursing the thing along, so she can share the chore.
It all seemed well worth while as the inky hour of eclipse approached at noontime. We are all weary—the constant warm shower of rain from the gray sky above is enervating, and we are finding the changed gravity adds to our fatigue. It was a joy to both mind and body to head for the yellow firelight, flickering there under the sheltering leaf, and to eat something hot. We've had some precious minutes of relaxation and rest, as we wait for the light to return. When it does, we shall be busy, as Jinjur, as much from exasperation as anything else, I suspect, has decided we should erect some sort of temporary shelter.
"We'll all take a break from salvage operations, and do something to get us out of this frabbled rain!" was the way she put it. "Can't send a signal, can barely keep the fire going, and durned if I want to sleep wet!"
"I'd just as soon stay out from under those trees," added Shirley, glancing at the dark line of forest.
Carmen was rubbing her ankles in the pleasant warmth. "I think I'd rather have a floor I can walk on without my slippers than a roof over my head," she said.
"A roof would be nice, though," said Cinnamon. "Out of the smoke, if that's possible."
"Wall, please? Wind blows sand—and smoke—in my eyes," requested Arielle.
"Here it goes, you see," grumbled Richard. "Give 'em a tropical Eden, with a warm ocean, sandy beach, a good spring—and they want carpets and furniture."
I closed my mouth; I'd been about to suggest erecting the structure above the rock a step or two, to escape the sandy grit under our slippers. Oh, well—we shall see how this little effort proceeds; Carmen has apparently had some experience in make-shift construction, when she survived the Salamanca earthquake all those years ago, and several of us have camped out in various locales. I myself worked for a construction firm in D.C. briefly, but had left as soon as I'd mastered the new computer. Privately, listening to the discussion around me, I anticipate the shelter will resemble most things built by a committee! Curious, Richard's mention of Eden—it's the last word I'd have selected. The feeling I have is that of being a castaway on a desert island, with no preparation or warning. Indeed, recalling the enormity of the disaster, I am a little surprised at the recovery we have already begun. The natural instincts to survive are doubtless driving us, and although this place so far seems relatively benign, we are working hard at ensuring our mutual safety.
It was indeed a strenuous afternoon. Selecting a site for a temporary shelter was simple; we are all loath to leave this gentle slope of beach, with its open visibility in all directions and at a reasonable distance from the unknowns in the forest. There is plenty of wood available in the forest. From a hasty survey, it looks like bare-trunked saplings, thin and strong, but we think the poles are actually downshoots from the mammoth trees, which support the heavy branches and their massive leaves. The leaves themselves, wide and stiff, would serve almost as boards, but they are very irregular in shape, and of course we have nothing to cut them with except Shirley's knife, which makes slow work of them. Nor have we fasteners, except for the long snaky vines and roots, which even Jinjur has agreed to use freely as lashings.
Eventually we collected enough material to begin. How awkward and difficult it was, to make even the simplest plan! Accustomed, as we all are, to plenty of charts and graphs and measuring devices, as well as to having James coordinate instantly all ideas, we were now reduced to talking, explaining, describing, waving arms and hands around; even, primitively, drawing in the sand! Like children, we find our dream castle becoming humbler and humbler, as the difficulties of construction become apparent. Somewhat discouraged by the evolution of the building into a sort of shed, I went off with Cinnamon and Carmen to begin fetching supplies.
I had cut several lengths of vine, using Shirley's knife, when yesterday's blisters began to burn. "I'll take a turn, Reiki," said Carmen kindly, and gratefully I handed her the tool. Shortly, she too was glad to pass it along to Cinnamon. By taking turns we were able to continue cutting, gathering, and carrying the vines. "George would be shocked, you know," said Carmen. "Only one tool between us, and so painful to use we give it up happily!"
"George would soon find out for himself," I said tartly. The blisters were becoming raw.
Finally, by dint of much trial and error, we succeeded in erecting two sturdy towers, connected at their top by a ridgepole made of the tallest sapling we could find. Along that support, and with its back to the strongest winds, we laid a lean-to sort of arrangement, alternating bases and tips of the saplings, and covered over with layered leaves, lashed down well by the vines. While Jinjur shouted directions from below, countermanded at nearly every step by Shirley—"Wait! I have a better idea!"—David crouched patiently at the top of a tripod, supported at its base by Richard and John. Like the spider monkey he somewhat resembles, he clambered agilely about, seizing the tips of the wavering saplings Nels extended, grunting, to him.
"Stay up there, David, and keep twisting those vines around that beam, while we make another support!" And he did wait, while the architects dithered about the exact spot for the second tripod. But when Arielle climbed to the top of the new one, she found the vines too stiff for her to knot. David swung to the ground, then, and replaced her at the job. Both of the slender workers compared palms later—there is considerable blood in the construction!
The structure is necessarily sturdy, because it must stand against these strong winds; it is also both wide and tall, as the slender trunks are surprisingly long and stiff for their weight—somewhat similar to bamboo. Both ends are enclosed, so that the whole affair is about seven meters deep and ten meters wide, and rises some three meters at the front. We covered the "floor" with as many springy softer branches as we had the patience to cut, and they make a welcome cushion between our bodies and the sandy rock. Viewed dispassionately, it is the most miserable "building" I have ever seen, but it feels wonderful to sit inside, out of the rain! To feel the warmth of the fire, and stare at the fresh blisters and scratches on my hands and arms, and sip from a steaming cup—while the thin fabrics in my clothes toast themselves dry! It couldn't last, and soon we were hard at it in the shallows again, sorting debris.
John said, "I'd really like to have something soothing to put on everyone's skin—the Christmas Branch could supply us with just the thing from its chemical synthesizer! But, in the absence of ointment, this seawater is probably just what's needed to keep your wounds clean and toughen up your skin. Fortunately, we probably don't have to worry about dangerous bugs in the soil, like tetanus, anthrax, and staph. There may be alien equivalents to them in the dirt, but hopefully they don't know how to attack anything as alien as our cells." The seawater treatment stung, but pretty soon our blisters and welts began to recede.
The rain stopped, briefly, about mid-afternoon, and we all paused in our labors to stare upwards. Alas, although there was no water falling from those thick clouds, they were roiling ominously; the winds above must be even stronger than they are here on the surface, and there is no hope of their being penetrable by a signal fire yet.
"If I'd known it was monsoon season, I'd have stayed home," grumbled Jinjur. Oddly, there popped into my head the ancient tradition of the Emperor of Japan decreeing, officially, the beginning and ending of the rainy season; I chuckled, and told Jinjur about it. "Oughtn't you to have that right, Jinjur?" I asked.
"Of course!" she responded. And in her most authoritarian tones, she proclaimed, "I hereby declare the rainy season over! Signed . . .Me, the Me!" To no one's real surprise, the slow drops began to fall again.
With occasional breaks for their own needs, the flouwen continued to bring items from the drowning lander. With commendable patience, they gathered up all the small items which were drifting about, and we harvested quite a crop of dead imps and housekeeping motiles which could be disassembled into pins, nails, and fasteners; coffee squeezers, drink flasks, spoons—I for one had no idea of the number of spoons we'd had with us! A great many more useful items we normally kept secured, either by straps or in compartments, and we left them for the time being, reluctant to instruct the flouwen to start pulling on things below. They can be very strong, when they can get sufficient purchase to tug, and their capacity for destroying something we might be able to obtain somehow, sometime, in better circumstances, were very real.
One of the treasures secured by Little White was the plastic bag in which I had packed my laces for this trip! There were a dozen of the ones I like best, and I was foolishly delighted to have them back. After rinsing, I hung them in the shelter of the trees, and they make a rather startling sight, their crisp elegance outlined against the rough bark.
With fire and water, Nels was able to mix together a large communal pot containing several sorts of our fast-thawing frozen foods, in a vessel I had never seen before. "Don't ask," he had said with a grin when he saw my look of inquiry.
It seemed to take a very long time for the pot to get hot enough to cook sufficiently, and while it was slowly getting to that stage we were able to smell the aromas of cooking—for the first time in how long? Arielle was increasingly fascinated, and rummaging through the small tins and bottles of the few retrieved seasonings, pounced on several which she insisted on adding to the mixture. The smells became even more savory, and by the time the meal was pronounced ready, our appetites were also. Indeed, with the unaccustomed exertions of hauling supplies, dragging wood, climbing and bending, I was very hungry, and the aroma from the stew made me dizzy. We have no means of preserving any of the meal, but that was not a problem as there was not a trace of it left.
Once more sipping some marvelously comforting tea from the cut-off bottoms of our squeezers cups (and what a nuisance they are! It takes a polishing with sand to remove the last traces of stew in order not to spoil the tea-flavor—I was surprised, for the cleaning imp in the galley had always taken care of that detail for us before), we lounged in the front of our lean-to to stare at the flames and plan for the morrow.
"It's tough not to be able to make any long-range plans," fretted Shirley. "And by long-range, I mean a week!" she added.
Carmen smiled, her tiny dimple darkening in the firelight. It struck me again, how lovely she is without a trace of her cherished cosmetics! "We had plenty of long-range plans. Maybe we still do. They're just on hold, and counting."
"Right," agreed Jinjur. "We need to stay alert, ready to take advantage of a situation, or to protect ourselves, but in the meantime establish some sort of working routine. I've been in campaigns like that! So, we'll continue to stand watches, we'll keep on salvaging and sorting whatever the flouwen can bring up, and we'll keep the fire going. Eventually, this rain will let up enough for us to signal. We'll keep using the food we brought with us—no experimenting with anything that might be edible here—yet." The final word was soft, but flat. "Now about this signal fire—our options are still limited. With all the lightning-caused fires we mapped before landing—we need to make it clear this isn't a natural fire."
"How about a geometric shape? A circle, or square of several fires?" suggested David.
"A circle would look like one big fire from that high up," objected John. "And a square would have to be so precise; I'm not sure, without anything to measure with . . ."
"Possibly a long straight line?" asked Shirley.
"In Canada, forest fire sometimes make long line," said Arielle. "So straight, look like road."
I thought of what primitive tribes and clans might do under the same circumstances. They were almost as destitute as we. Then I remembered, the clans used to call their gatherings with a burning cross! I explained, eagerly. "They used a wooden one standing on the top of a hill, but we would need to make a series of fires in two rows. They needn't be exactly straight, for if we can get the whole thing going simultaneously, the configuration won't be like anything which would naturally occur."
To my surprise, Jinjur frowned. "A fiery cross . . .that's not a very civilized symbol, as I recall," she said levelly.
"A cross is a very ancient symbol of civilization," I maintained. "And the Celts used it, burning, to gather all the families for important meetings. It was an honorable symbol between allies, and the misuse of it by the vile Klan"—I practically spat the "K"—"couldn't permanently debase it!" The rest agreed, and Jinjur was persuaded. The long-dead Klan certainly means nothing to this planet, or this century, and the simple device will make as clear a message as we can send, with our limitations.
We began to succumb to weariness. The light, drenching rain makes little sound against the rough thatch of our overhead, or on the wet sand surrounding us. Our thin clothes, after steaming visibly in the warmth of the fire, are dry and comfortable, and we are feeling both exhausted and secure. The moaning wind only deepens the comfort of being under shelter, and the breathing of my sleeping companions is inaudible. I'm glad my watch is nearly over and I can stretch out for my share of oblivion!