“You’re the same Philip I knew in the Chaunt System?”

  “No,” he said in that smarmy, hominid way. “I’m not the same Philip you knew. His memories, however, reached the Original. The Original bequeathed them to me. It’s as if I’d experienced that time with you, and I am much the same as the Philip you met. We’re numbered by the way.”

  “I know.”

  “I also happen to know you know. Your Philip claimed he was first. That’s a blatant lie. I’m higher-ranked than the Philip you knew. He’s a Traveler to barbaric worlds. I’m—I’m presently doing a stint on Garm. It will be over shortly. But I want to know, Bayard, what you plan to do with these pesky slaves who have raced away from good, honest labor and are wasting their lives in this primitive existence—”

  While he talked, I’d been running a cost-analysis on what to do. Did a flying saucer indeed target me, readying to launch a missile or fire a laser? I needed my special glasses. I needed my phasor. I raised the Colt again but decided there wasn’t any profit in shooting a holoimage.

  Thus, I began walking toward the cliffs, which were three miles away. It was time to find out if I could leave. If I could, I most certainly would.

  “Go ahead,” Philip said, interrupting his own monologue. “At any moment, I can kill you. Remember that, Bayard.”

  He walked beside me—no, he floated as a holographic projection. That put a knot in my gut. I kept walking anyway.

  “What’s this all about, Philip?” I asked with a dry mouth.

  “This is all about your intentions. Do you want to leave this world?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I grant you free access to the obelisk. You may go there. We won’t hinder you.”

  “Like I believe you,” I said.

  “It’s a pity you don’t.”

  I sneered. “The Philip I knew was a liar and a homicidal maniac. Why are you doing this to these poor slobs, anyway? What did the Neanderthals ever do to you?”

  “You want to know the reason?”

  I nodded.

  “They’ve caused pain and suffering to us exiles for—” He turned away as he ceased speaking.

  Had that been a slip of the tongue about him being an exile or was he trying to pretend? I had no idea. I knew Philip was clever, the polar opposite of the Neanderthals.

  “You clearly don’t understand the situation,” Philip said. “We’ve taken these brutes that lived a primitive existence for six thousand years—ever since the Harmony shattered. They’ve done nothing but hunt game, start fires and roast endless meat. Oh, they also rutted and lived a precarious existence. They’re tough as any caveman would be. But they were useless. They squandered the world given them.”

  “Given them,” I said. “That implies they’re not indigenous to the planet.”

  “Bayard, you’re so fast and clever. I can see why your Philip loved being with you.”

  “Thanks for the sarcasm. I love you, too, Philip.”

  He grinned in that chimpanzee way, exposing most of his teeth. I expected him to pull out a cigarette and light it, taking a few puffs.

  When I was a kid traveling through the various states with my parents, the western states, I remember stopping. I think it was in Montana. I remember this zoo trainer had a chimp smoke a cigarette for us. We thought nothing of it at the time. Now, of course, that would have got him in hell and high water. I remember the chimp smoking a cigarette, staring at us, his lips reaching out to the cig. That was the feeling I got looking at Philip, a smarmy smart aleck showing off.

  “You’re saying the Neanderthals were living in a pristine wonderland. And you Last Folk came and spoiled it for them, making them work in your damn mine for you.”

  “No. We First Folk came and gave them honest labor and an honest day’s wage for it. We tried to elevate them to a higher status. What did they do? They wrecked much of the equipment we’d given them. They chaffed against the traces, claiming to hate honest work. They didn’t want to improve themselves, as an intelligent species should. So, we had to use different methods.”

  “Slavery?”

  Philip shrugged. “We made sure they worked hard.”

  “Uh-huh. And how much did you return to their society for their labor?”

  “We let them understand technological marvels. Some have become quite good at it. You met Krull. He’s one of the most intelligent and adaptive. He learned your identity for us. Therefore, he has been awarded a gift.”

  “What’s that? You let him visit the women?”

  The chimp smile appeared again. “You begin to perceive, Bayard. How hominid of you.”

  I nodded.

  “Bayard,” he said, “I know what you did in the Chaunt System. I know that given a rifle in the right place, you can cause havoc. We don’t want that here on Garm.”

  “Why aren’t you shooting me down right now then?”

  “Because I’d rather make a deal with you,” he said. “Isn’t that obvious? Hey, I know where the Old One lives. What a pathetic name—Old One. How imaginative is that? The Neanderthals are cavemen. They deserve to die out. We should introduce a more pleasant group of workers onto Garm. Hey, why not help us bring some Earth aboriginals here? They’d do much better in the mines and would understand procedures better.”

  “Nope,” I said. “I’m not going to be your pimp no matter what you offer me.”

  His holographic eyes swirled with anger. “Do you want me to launch the missiles? Do you wish to die right now?”

  “You ever read The Island of Dr. Moreau?”

  Philip blinked several times. “I have no idea what that’s supposed to mean.”

  “What you’re doing with the sabertooths,” I said, “enhancing them through your Nazi experiments, giving them greater braincases and antennae. I wouldn’t be surprised if you were putting human or Neanderthal brains into them.”

  Philip’s eyes widened.

  My stomach clenched. Had I stumbled upon a horrific truth? If so, was that what they planned to do to me? Yeah, I trusted Philip not in the slightest. They’d remove my brain and put it into one of the Smilodons. No wonder he was offering me free passage to the obelisk.

  Thinking of that—

  “Say,” I asked, “how are you traveling back and forth from the Institute to Garm?”

  Philip’s head rose. “That’s none of your concern. I’m offering you a deal, Bayard. You want to get off planet, by all means, go.”

  That was gobbledygook, misdirection.

  “What are you collecting down in the mines?” I asked. “What’s so important about it, huh?”

  “That you ask shows—I’m sorry, Bayard. I’ve gauged your intensity and intentions. You’re going to help the Neanderthals. That’s too bad.”

  My gut clenched even tighter than before. I took the hint and began to sprint in a zigzagging pattern, hoping to spoil his aim. I looked back. The holoimage was gone. I looked up at the sky. I didn’t see any flying saucer.

  After a two-miles sprint—I was gasping, with sweat running into my eyes. Had Philip lied about a missile?

  Skarl and Zog lumbered toward me. Each had a lance.

  I looked up again. Something streaked out of the sky, coming straight for me.

  I bellowed, ran and dove, rolling over hard dirt.

  A missile hit the earth, the warhead exploding. It rained dirt and debris, shaking me with the blast, but I survived unharmed.

  When I got up, I saw Skarl and Zog staring at the sky with their lances pointed straight up.

  I didn’t see a second missile coming down. I didn’t see a beam streaking for me, either.

  I was panting, sweating, and staggered to them. “Thanks. I think you scared it off.”

  Skarl looked at me.

  “Where did the missile come from, a flying saucer?” I asked.

  Skarl shook his head. “Flying saucers have never fired missiles, but a drone, a new kind of drone launched it.”

  “Ah,” I said, “I wonder how many drones they have. The drones must not carry many missiles. I need to talk to Gruum right away.”

  Skarl dropped his gaze, turning from me.

  “Did you not hear?” asked Zog. “Gruum is very sick.”

  “I thought he was better,” I said.

  Zog shook his head.

  “Is he going to die?” I asked.

  Skarl faced me. “Don’t say that. It’s bad luck.”

  “What will we do if…Gruum no longer leads us?”

  Skarl shook his head. The whole idea clearly scared him.

  I scanned the sky. Would we attack the mines if Gruum died? Who’d keep order as the other Neanderthals came into the valley?

  “We’d better make contingency plans,” I said.

  “What does that mean?” Skarl asked.

  “What are we going to do if—?” I didn’t finish the question.

  “Gruum has asked for you,” Skarl said. “It is time to hurry.”

  I nodded. That was probably the best thing to do.

  -25-

  With trepidation, I approached the cavern. The walk through the underworld only tightened my gut. Going down the stone stairs with Skarl and Zog—

  “I can’t believe this is happening,” I said.

  Finally, we reached the bottom and approached the two guarding the entrance to the living quarters. I peered past them and the machine pumping warm air into the subterranean lair. They should take the old man outside to get fresh air. I spied Gruum asleep in his big bed.

  What chance did the attack have if we lost Gruum? How would I get to the obelisk then? I could try to sneak past sabertooth cats and patrolling saucers. Maybe the slave guards would patrol in force as well. Getting to the obelisk might prove impossible.

  Therefore, the easiest thing was for Gruum to be alive and well. The other free Neanderthals were trickling into the valley. I’d heard a hundred and twenty were here already. How much hardtack and jerked meat had Gruum stored for the grand adventure? Everything would come to pieces if we ran out of those two supplies. That meant once the warriors gathered, they had to move for the mines. The clock had already started ticking.

  Yet, who was I fooling? How could three hundred Neanderthals, with only nine who could shoot mini-RPGs with any skill—and they weren’t even particularly good at it. I’d have three phasors and the special glasses. How could this force change a planet’s destiny?

  This wasn’t like last time where I’d gone in and killed all the Accelerationists in the control room on Chaunt Two. This was different. This was a world. We were talking about a world.

  “Halt,” Brakka said.

  His harsh voice broke me out of my reveries.

  One-eyed Brakka rushed forward, glowering, clutching his—this was new. He no longer had the long brass tube. He hefted a lance with a gleaming, razor-sharp lance-head. Had he been practicing with the missiles, launching them in secret?

  I had the feeling Brakka would do anything for love of Gruum? Was Gruum his dad, perhaps? Had Gruum once helped him survive? Maybe Gruum’s care had saved Brakka’s life from whatever had caused his horrible eye and face wound.

  One thing was for sure. Brakka was an ugly sucker even for a Neanderthal. He rushed up, gripping the lance like he meant to use it.

  I raised my hands. “I mean no harm whatsoever, Brakka.”

  He glared, looking us over. “You two—” He used the lance to point at Skarl and Zog. “You two may not enter. Only this one may enter.”

  “What?” Skarl said.

  “Gruum has asked for him and him alone. I will make sure everyone follows Gruum’s commands until he’s—”

  Brakka turned away abruptly, perhaps to contain his grief.

  Then it came to me, I hadn’t seen any Neanderthal cry. I’d hardly seen them show any of the gentler emotions. They laughed at times, but mainly got angry. They were indeed cavemen.

  Skarl and Zog stared at each other.

  Brakka faced them, glowering, intent.

  Reluctantly and slowly, Skarl and Zog retreated, with the other guard escorting them away.

  That left me alone with Brakka.

  “You know I don’t mean Gruum any harm, right?” I asked.

  The ugly sucker looked at me with his single eye. To my shock, I didn’t see any rage, ferocity or the desire to whack me. He looked at me with calculation. I hadn’t seen that before. Was Brakka more cunning than I’d given him credit for?

  That struck me.

  “Is Gruum already dead?” I asked.

  “What?” Brakka asked, “How dare you say such a thing? What would cause you to even think it?”

  “Because you’re holding something back,” I said. “I can see it. I can feel it. You’re playing a part. What, you’re pretending Gruum is alive so you can run things? Why do that, though? In order to see through his great enterprise?”

  “You’re clever,” Brakka said, nodding. “Clever, that is what Gruum has said about you.”

  “Is he still alive?”

  “Yes. Now come quietly. Do not raise your voice.”

  I realized Brakka had been speaking lowly. That was new as well.

  I looked around. There were other guards farther off, but none in Gruum’s living area near the machine.

  “How bad is he?” I asked.

  “Follow me,” Brakka said.

  He marched just a little ahead. I could feel his tension—that something was off with the one-eyed Neanderthal.

  I wondered if Brakka had become like the Viking god Odin in the legends, who’d traded an eye in order to gain wisdom. Had the loss of an eye, had the accompanying scarring and ugliness, given Brakka a greater understanding that other Neanderthals lacked? People who took a grim wound or blow in life often gained something profound from it, usually in terms of insights or new outlooks.

  I’d had an uncle who had taken a bad back injury from basketball, of all things. You’d think it would have been from hockey or football. Anyway, he slipped on sweat staining the court going for a rebound and another guy who also slipped had landed across his shoulders, folding him inward like an accordion. My uncle had taken a bad wound to the spine. He told me how he’d lost his strength and almost the will to live. He could no longer play sports or even lift. The accident had changed him. He went from being an arrogant man to one grateful for the blessings he had, which was life, work, wife and kids. He said that after he learned the hard lesson of humility, that God allowed him to continue lifting and slowly strengthened the bad back. He’d even been able to play basketball again. My uncle said he’d learned more from that terrible injury than any other thing in his life, and that it had proven to be a blessing in disguise.

  Could such a thing be true with Brakka?

  We approached the bed. The covers were over Gruum’s head.

  “This is bad,” I said.

  The covers whipped back so Gruum stared at me. He sat up, looking almost spry.

  I stared in bewilderment.

  “Can anyone else see us?” Gruum asked.

  He didn’t sound sick in the slightest. He actually seemed better than the last time I’d talked to him.

  “What is this?” I said. “I was told you were sick. The way Brakka was acting, he had me believing you were already dead.”

  Gruum smiled. “Well done, Brakka. That was excellent work.”

  “Thank you,” Brakka said.

  I stared at Brakka. He had such a huge smile—goodness radiated from him.

  “What’s going on?” I said.

  “Keep your voice down,” Brakka whispered. “Gruum is supposed to be gravely ill. Don’t you understand?”

  “Shhh,” Gruum said. “Quietly. Now come close. Brakka, can you get Bayard a chair?”

  Brakka hesitated, and then hurried away to bring me one of the folding chairs. He set it beside the bed for me.

  I sat there.

  “Keep an eye out,” Gruum said. “Make sure no one comes too near.”

  One-eyed Brakka took up a position so he could look to the front and rear of the chamber.

  With his hands on the blanket, his head propped up by pillows, Gruum said, “I’m going to have to lie here as I tell you this. It’s been a deception. I was sick, and I have been coughing. You saw how I was several days ago. But Brakka used some of the medicine I once used on him.”

  “Did you bring Brakka back from the brink of death once?”

  Gruum stared at me, astonished. “Why, yes. How did you know?”

  I told Gruum what I’d perceived concerning Brakka, even though I knew Brakka listened.

  “You’re a clever man, Traveler,” Gruum said. “You’re also the needed catalyst for Garm. I hope you stick with us. I hope you won’t become enraged after I tell you what I’ve done.”

  As they say, I was all ears. I decided to raise my stock just a little more, though. “This medicine, did it come from the First Folk mine?”

  “My,” Gruum said, “you are a marvel of surprises. That’s right. How did you know?”

  “It seemed logical. Where else would you have gotten such healing medicine than from the First Folk?”

  “I used it when a sabertooth raked Brakka’s face, ruining the eye and the flesh on that side of the face. Unknown to me, Brakka saved some. He saved it for a day like this. He gave me some with my food. It took away my cough and revived me. I feel better than ever.”

  Gruum grinned deviously. “Then it came to me, Bayard. Perhaps I should fake being very sick. I should have you heal me.”

  I finally looked at Brakka. He’d moved closer to us.

  He stood there, leaning as it were, upon the lance. The end was on the floor while he gripped it up near the lance head. He looked with approval at both of us.

  “Brakka doesn’t hate me anymore?” I asked.

  “No,” Brakka said. “I see your—” He looked at Gruum.

  “Utility,” Gruum said.

  Brakka nodded. “I see your utility to us and to Garm. I approve.”

  “This is a change,” I said. “I think I understand, though. I’m going to do something…magical. Is this deception, Gruum?”

  “Yes, it’s deception. We’ll use a trick of the First Folk in order to boost morale among our warriors. They’ll also look at you with gratitude. In that way, they’ll follow you willingly. You see, Bayard, I’ve pondered on what you said, and I’ve thought about your fight with Skarl. You defeated him, but it was clear the warriors were not happy. Brakka sees more than you would imagine with his single eye. He told me you won through nimbleness, cunning and sleights. You didn’t win through strength such as our people love. So I need to give you authority. But I cannot just command authority so you may wield it. For the warriors to follow you, you must earn it. The only way I can think you can earn it is to be a miraculous healer. You shall heal me. And in a few days, I’ll show myself. The warriors will marvel at my newfound strength. I’ll attribute it to you…if you agree to this.”